American Trains
by Hellie Ace
Summary: AU 1870 in the American Midwest. Alfred F. Jones the cowboy finds himself miserable and infuriated by his fellow cowhands when he stumbles upon a man who could turn it all around...or maybe get him killed. Historically accurate. USUK
1. The Desert

**American Trains**

**Chapter 1: The Desert**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: First attempt at published Fanfiction. Therefore I beseech you, have mercy on this n00b! Dx**

**AU in the American Midwest. I've attempted to keep the story as historically accurate as possible. All historical notes will be in the bottom A/N.**

**Anyway, I'll shut up and just let you read the story! XD**

Alfred narrowed his eyes against the blinding afternoon sunlight pouring down on the dusty expanse set out before him. Even the rough hat perched on his head could not completely eliminate the nuisance of the sun as it bounced right back off the dust and into his line of sight. He blinked a few times and resisted the urge to swipe his dusty gloves across his eyes.

The cowboy gave a hefty sigh as he continued his work. With hands confidently loose on the reins he steered his chestnut quarter horse after the moving mass of cattle. Not far off around the herd more cowboys were doing the same thing: steering and driving and just doing their job.

Alfred could honestly say he didn't like any of them. They all wore scowls under their dust-coated, rimmed hats. Some openly swore their troubles, hollering to keep a few of the braver animals in check.

Normally, Alfred was cheerful fellow, but out on this miserable open hell-space he found himself becoming more and more agitated at every little upset. He found himself acting more like one of those other scowling fellows. One word from another sour-mouthed cowboy set him off and made him grit his teeth. Eighteen hours in the saddle and only a few uncomfortable hours lying uselessly on the ground trying to sleep did that to you though.

So the herd and the cowboys kept on, mostly in heavy silence or random angry outbursts due to the tension rich air. Alfred silently dared them to try and talk to him or order him to another part of the herd, anything to relieve the budding fury in his gut. A good yelling match might be just what he needed to blow off built-up steam. By the end of the day, he was just that irked.

But when nothing of the sort occurred though, Alfred settled for the silence and watched the space between his mount's tall ears.

As they padded on, they came upon a much flatter expanse of land with a bit more greenery than usual. His horse suddenly skirted around a thorny looking bush that Alfredthought might have been horse-apple and he wondered if the land they were crossing might have been someone's farm.

He looked around but couldn't spot any fencing, animals or ranch; only the long string of horse-apple bushes lining a small strip.

_Odd_. The cowboy thought but shrugged it off.

They continued on for an unmeasured amount of time that certainly felt like forever to the cowboy, but eventually the sun began to dip too far below the horizon for the exhausted cowboys to keep on.

They circled to stop the herd before setting up a small campsite, digging a pit for the fire.

Alfred circled one final time to make sure nothing was lingering on the outskirts of their site, mostly looking for rouge carnivores and maybe a few late night snakes but found everything all clear. He let his horse return to the camp at an easy pace to find the rest of his working team already settling for the night.

One on the far end with dark hair and sun-crisped skin addressed him with a rude wave (Alfred could not remember his name though) and he wiggled his feet in his sleeping bag.

"Hey, take first watch, would ya?" He ordered rhetorically and the others smirked. "I mean, we're all already set, and ya still on your horse and all." Obviously this had been planned judging by the smug grins most of them wore as they looked at Alfred, who felt his lips quirk in a sneer.

"Fine." He said dismissively and turned his horse around. He heard them laugh loudly as the blond trotted his horse out of the glare of the fire and cursed harshly under his breath.

Earlier today he'd have jumped from the saddle to deck anyone who'd have suggested it, but inside the cowboy almost welcomed the chance to avoid them now. He was tired and suddenly cold as the desert air released the day's heat.

The blond's shoulders drooped and he let his eye lids shut for a moment. It felt incredibly good but the tall blond swore he wasn't going to fall asleep on watch. The cowboy wasn't about to give his fellows another reason to laugh at or taunt him. Eventually though, he felt himself start to slope in the saddle and forced himself upright.

_This is gonna be a long night._He thought to himself and tried to focus on something to keep himself awake.

After a few lame attempts, he just settled on watching his mount's ears twitch. He absently ran his fingers through the horse's coarse mane, unable to feel the strands through his leather gloves: Anything to distract himself from the wondrous thoughts of sleep.

The night stretched on without event and just as Alfred could no longer bear to stay awake, and he turned to go wake another cowboy for watch, he heard a strange noise. His horse shifted below him and let out a soft snort, its barrel body shuddering. The blond narrowed his eyes and urged his mount toward the noise. The horse obeyed but his ears swiveled in annoyance, or maybe fear. The sleep-deprived cowboy found it hard to tell in his muddled mind.

The noise grew louder and obviously closer. Alfred could faintly make out a dark body writhing against the pale ground. He squinted, was… was that a person?

Alfred paused his horse with a very slight tug and stared down at the man dressed in what may have once been a suit, now merely shredded cloth, struggling with his legs caught in a mass of rusted barbwire. The noise had been the man struggling and swearing with a strange accent.

The tangled man suddenly noticed Alfred's approach and glared up with an angry spark in his bright emerald eyes

"Well, don't just sit there you git! Help me!"

**:DDDDD Hurray for chapter 1 and an awful cliffhanger!**

**Anyway, reviews are super special awesome! :D**

**Horse-apples are these funny thorny bushes that some ranchers used to grow along their fences to keep their cattle from escaping or cowboys from stomping over their lands. Most animals will likely stay away from something that tangling and painful on their limbs. ;) The real name for the plant is _Maclura pomifera._**


	2. Limeys and Loons

**American Trains**

**Ch. 2: Limeys and Loons**

**A/N: Wow, speed wrote this! I have to bump the rating now that I've introduced Arthur who I've deemed to have a filthy mouth. Teehee. Also, frustrated Al might be OOC; I just ran with it and besides, he's pretty PO-ed. Everyone's had a bad day... this is Alfie's. ;)**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**Mild warning for swearing! D:**

Alfred blinked and pushed his glasses back to sit properly on his nose.

"What did ya call me?" He inquired, a confused look on his face. _What in the name of Texas is a 'git?'_

The tangled man on the ground just growled out a frustrated noise and thrashed more, slicing his legs open further. After one last final and defiant kick along with a deadly glare at the offending barbwire, he looked up at the cowboy looming over him upon a sturdy looking horse.

"Never mind, just help me out of this, would you?" The man sighed in exasperation, gesturing to his bloody, tangled limbs.

Alfred could clearly see the barbwire was heavily rusted but still painfully sharp and dust was caking around the open cuts, yet the man on the ground seemed more frustrated than in pain.

The cowboy voiced the thought as he dismounted and led his horse to a nearby bush and very loosely tied the loop of the reins about the main stalk. Not that the horse would wander off. The bright animal was well trained and was quite attached to Alfred, but still, caution was a good philosophy out here.

"You're a tough one, ain't ya?" Alfred commented with a tired chuckle. "Most folks stop strugglin' when it starts hurtin'." Kneeling, he gave the tangled mess of rusted metal, squirming legs and dirt a quick look-over to find a good place to start.

The other man swore again as Alfred settled his gloved fingers around a length of wire and tugged experimentally.

"That bloody fucking hurt!" He growled out, and Alfred withdrew his hand with a swift apology. The shorter blond dismissed the cowboy's apology with a grunt and let the man return to trying to untangle his limbs: the occasional tug or too-firm hand making him wince painfully and swear lowly.

Alfred worked sluggishly, exhaustion making his already clumsy hands even more uncoordinated. The silence besides pained noises from the tangled man wasn't helping his sleepy mind any either.

"You got a name?" Alfred asked, never raising his eyes from his work as he attempted to keep himself from falling asleep on his knees.

"Kirkland." The emerald eyed man grunted out in pain as Alfred pulled a sharp bit of barb from his knee.

"Huh?" The blond cowboy glanced up, eyelids heavy and the tangled man narrowed his eyes.

"I said, 'Kirkland.' My name is Arthur Kirkland." He said sharply, making sure the drowsy American heard him this time. Alfred bobbed his head in understanding and freed another length of wire from Arthur's limbs.

"Nice to meet ya, Mr. Kirkland. You can call your new hero Alfred." He said with a lethargic smile. "Alfred F. Jones, y'know, if you want the full thing?"

Arthur scoffed. "Hero? Hardly a fit title for a lowly cattle driver." He commented wryly, appearing to examine a weed sprouting up near his left hand. The soft tugging and hands at his legs suddenly stopped and the tangled man glanced to Alfred with a cocked eyebrow.

The cowboy had guessed his appearance had given away his profession, but still, did he really look 'lowly?'

Alfred fixed a stern, annoyed look on his face and a scowl to match it, but his clear, blue eyes clearly showed hurt and something else.

_Frustration maybe?_Arthur thought. Alfred rose to his feet and dusted off his chaps.

"Have fun untanglin' yourself, Mr. Kirkland, sir." He said stiffly and backed away to reach for the reins of his horse.

Arthur sputtered indignantly and forcefully swallowed his pride. Damn it, he would not be beat by a poor excuse for fencing and some dusty American bloke! "A-ah lad, err, Alfred, wait!"

Alfred glanced back, barely restraining a victorious grin.

"Huh?" He asked a bit too innocently and the emerald-eyed blond was quick to notice the twitch at the corner of his lips as well.

"Bloody Hell, American! You simply cannot leave me like this!" He shouted, thick brows furrowed. Alfred laughed and blinked sleep off again to walk back over to Arthur, kneel and begin to work again.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't have left ya. Wouldn't want the coyotes and snakes to get ya, now would I?" He commented over a yawn while completely freeing the tangled man's left leg.

Arthur sighed in relief, rolling his ankle and flexing his leg out. Once the first leg was liberated, Alfred found it much easier to free the other limb. Giving one final tug, he pulled the last length of fencing away before tossing it off into some odd colored bush.

"Finally!" Arthur breathed out and fell back onto his shoulder blades to look up at the clear sky in relief. His legs stung badly and the muscles and tendons in said limbs were sore and stretched and cramped all at once, but at least he was free of that awful length of barbwire.

"Thank you, Alfred."

The cowboy shrugged, though the smaller blond didn't see it.

"'s nothin'." He said casually and yawned again. "So how'd ya get all tangled up... and why do ya talk funny like that? You a foreigner or somethin'?"

Arthur sat up, fingers clenched in the dirt.

"I do not 'talk funny,'" Arthur drawled out darkly, imitating Alfred's light Midwestern accent. "I'm from England and back home we don't butcher the Queen's English as you beastly Americans do." He continued, switching back to his natural accent.

Alfred frowned deeply. The snobbish higher-than-thou attitude was starting to grate on his already raw nerves. The cowboy got back to his feet, glowering down at the Englishman, still on his back propped by his elbows. Arthur glared back up at him with a steady defiance and it only infuriated Alfred even more.

"Y'know what, ya tea-sippin' limey? I haven't known ya anymore than I've known that damned bush over there," he jerked his thumb to where he'd thrown the barbwire. "And I'm thinkin' I like 'im a lot more than you!" He shouted, eyes glittering fiercely under the starlight.

Arthur found that those angry, hurt eyes trapped him and he didn't speak for a moment but continued to stare the cowboy down, even if he was the one looking up. His shoulders shrugged.

"I don't need the approval of a brute like yourself." He finally said with a cocky smirk. He opened his mouth to continue but caught the feral glint in Alfred's eyes and suddenly shut his mouth, unable to bark out another insult under the intense glare.

The cowboy reveled in the fact the sharp-tongued Brit was silent and Alfred continued, his anger from the day releasing in waves venting out to the foreign stranger.

"I spend my whole day, every day, sittin' in a saddle, gettin' dust blown up in my eyes and cuts and bruises in some real uncomfortable places. I deal with the most sour, dirty-mouthed _brutes_ya ever seen and I don't mean the cattle. They's a real piece a work themselves, and I do it all fer some money scraps to go boozin' on 'cause I can't afford nothin' else!"

By now, the American's chest was heaving as he shouted, gesturing wildly and he barely noticed as his hat slipped from his head but the leather tie and bead kept holding it around his neck. Somehow his glasses became askew as well and he found himself subconsciously fixing them.

"And then ya got the nerve to bash my job like I'm some kind a' low life just 'cause I don't got some clean job and actually work hard for my livin' while you got time to go a' walkin' the desert and bein' stupid and gettin' caught up in old wire like some sort 'a stupid rabbit pup who don't know how to keep out 'a hunter's trap!" The American found his usually light and controlled accent going wild with his words but didn't care much. He was more venting to himself and the desert night now more than to Arthur anyway.

When he finally finished he was breathing heavy, and had his teeth slightly bared in a rabid sneer. That had felt incredible: just shouting and screaming at the offending stranger and the desert. He felt like a terrible weight was finally off his chest and he dropped his head with a light sigh.

"You're a fucking loon!" Arthur suddenly exclaimed and burst into hearty laughter, throwing his head back. Alfred looked up quickly, fists clenched as his pent up anger flared back up, but it melted away again as he watched Arthur smile genuinely and get to his feet. Now he was just tired, the adrenaline from a few moments ago winding down.

The Brit continued to chuckle softly as he dusted what he could from his limbs. He limped forward and clapped his hand roughly on the taller blond's shoulder. Alfred watched him, dumbfounded.

Arthur seemed to take that as a means to continue and smirked.

"I'll excuse your attitude for tonight and blame it on the fact you look like Hell and likely had a poor excuse for a day." He said and clapped the American's shoulder again, moving toward Alfred's horse.

The shorter patted the mount as he approached and smoothed his fingers over the animal's neck. Before the cowboy could protest Arthur swung himself astride the horse, who shifted under his weight and swiveled its ears.

The American felt his jaw drop open and he stared in awe. This fellow had some nerve! _Insulting me, calling me a bird, then borrowing my horse, who the Hell does that?_

Arthur roused him from his thoughts with a snort.

"Well? Are you coming or not, git?"

The cowboy was just too tired to even argue at this point. The adrenaline spike the yelling had given him had worn out and the day's exhaustion hit him like a brick.

In silence he undid the tie of the reins, slid them back over the horse's neck and climbed up in the saddle in front of Arthur, who'd inched back to make room for the cowboy.

Shifting his hat back onto his head, not bothering to glance back at his passenger, Alfred set his horse back to camp at a smooth pace. This had definitely been a long, strange night.

**This chapter has little to nothing to do with plot other than to glue Arthur to Alfie. ;) Oh well, I enjoyed making Alfie vent in a Midwestern drawl. Might be a lot more of that next chapter too, apologies in advance!**

**Reviews are oh so lovely, I found myself squealing at the first few I ever received!**

**A loon is a bird. Alfie didn't quite get the insult (blame it on the lack of sleep. Hehe).**

**Fitting two fully grown men on a single western riding saddle is a bit squishy, or so I'd imagine. I've only ever had another girl ride behind me and I felt like my personal space bubble was being suffocated. Haha, just a funny thought to imagine those two... *shrugs***


	3. Good Night

**American Trains**

**Chapter 3: Good Night**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: Hurray for chapter 3! :D**

**Again, Arthur tends to swear a bit so mild warning again. A tiny bit of affection between Alfie and Arthur if you squint with a high-powered microscope!**

**Hope you guys enjoy! I rather did enjoy writting this and looking up some information! *is a history buff***

Arthur leaned back in the saddle, his arms crossed before his chest. He watched the desert landscape as the horse beneath him walked with a slow steady beat that was lulling the American in front of him to sleep. When the cowboy slouched and slipped further against the saddle, Arthur felt obliged to give him a hard flick on the back of his neck.

Alfred yipped with a start and fixed his posture, then glared back at Arthur with a tired scowl. The Englishman offered a shrug and cocky smile.

"Didn't want you falling asleep at the reins is all." Alfred growled at this.

"There are nicer ways of doing that, y'know."

"I'm sure there are, however, that was my way."

"You're so lucky I'm a nice guy and I'm too tired to hit ya."

"Aren't I just a blessed fellow?" Arthur spit back rhetorically with an air of smugness.

Alfred shifted his glasses and sighed heavily. Arthur wasn't going to survive the night if he thought any of the other cowboys were going to put up with that attitude. He barely dealt with them, and that was mostly in silence.

"I guess I ought to warn ya."

"Warn me of what?" Arthur asked, curiosity getting the better of him as he unfolded his arms and leaned closer to Alfred. The cowboy chuckled and rubbed his tired eyes.

"That you'll get yourself shot or left behind if you start talkin' like that to anybody but me." He said with a lazy smile. "Just yer fair warnin' now."

Arthur scoffed and flicked Alfred's neck again.

"I'm hardly afraid of your rag-tag band of cattle drivers."

"Ya should be. They got guns and horses; ya got a shredded suit and a limp." Alfred rubbed the back of his neck where Arthur had left a painful red mark just above the tie of his dark blue bandana.

"Oh shut up." Arthur retorted, crossing his arms again and glaring out into the desert night once more.

Alfred obeyed as they moved closer to the camp, the light of the dimming fire beginning to glow lightly against their skins. The soft clap of the horse's hooves must have alerted a light sleeper as Alfred could see a firelight-silhouetted figure sit up.

"Hey, that you Al?" The figure called into the darkness in a sleep hoarse voice. The American recognized the voice and called back.

"Yeah, it's me Jem! Wake the others, I found somethin'!"

"_Someone_, my dear brute. I am not a 'thing.'" Arthur grumbled and he hovered his hand over the nape of Alfred's neck again.

"Alright, alright! Don't flick me again! It's already gonna bruise…" The Englishman lowered his hand.

"Good boy."

The other cowboy, Jem, had started to stir the others and by the time Alfred brought his horse to a halt near the edge of the fire pit, all the others were more or less awake, forming a semi-circle around Alfred, Arthur and their horse.

Alfred dismounted and offered a hand to help Arthur down, who promptly ignored the offering and slid off on his own. He winced as feet hit the ground and his legs visibly shuddered. He gave the American a pointed glare, as if daring him to say anything of it. Alfred merely shrugged and turned to face the others of his working team.

"So, while y'all were sleepin' I found this here fellow." Finishing with a motion of his hand to Arthur, who had inched closer, and stood behind Alfred. While he'd claimed to be unafraid of the cattle drivers, looking at them now started to form doubts in his head. There were more of them than he'd first guessed, and they certainly did look a lot rougher and meaner than Alfred.

One of them stepped up to Alfred and reached his arm to clamp his hand onto Arthur's upper arm and nearly dragged the unwilling Brit out from behind the cowboy.

"Let's see your catch then, Al." The other cowboy gruffly spoke out.

"Unhand me this instant!" Arthur barked sharply, tugging in vain to escape the rough man's vice.

The cowboys, excluding Alfred, laughed and the emerald-eyed man suddenly felt small. They were unnerving, the whole lot of them and their ugly jeers only made it worse. The man who had grabbed him shoved him roughly to the cowboy beside him. Another bruising grip on his arm ensued.

"I said let go of me!" Arthur sputtered out, much weaker then he'd intended. Alfred stepped in then, hooked his fingers in the neckline of Arthur's suit jacket and pulled him back. The startled Englishman crashed against the American's chest and was surprised the man behind him managed to not only keep his balance, but also actually stay stock-still.

"Quit messin' with 'im." The taller blond threatened, his voice low with warning.

The Brit picked himself up off Alfred and tried to regain a scrap of his dignity before brushing the dust marks of his dark green suit jacket with a false, but aloof smirk.

"Aww, Al we wasn't gonna hurt 'im or nothin'! Calm down!" Said the first cowboy who'd grabbed Arthur with a cocky chuckle. Some others chimed in with a raucous chorus of agreement and Arthur found himself leering at them, feeling bolder with Alfred between himself and them again.

"I don't care. Ya leave 'im alone or y'all will be sorry! Ya hear?" Alfred growled out, taking his horse's bit and bridle mount in his hand and Arthur's forearm in the other. The others snarled out some form of consent and started to disperse back to their respective sleeping arrangements. All but one.

"Tie 'im up." The antagonizing cowboy from earlier ordered and threw Alfred a length of coarse rope that he'd pulled from his belt. It fell uselessly at Alfred's boots.

"Nah. He ain't goin' anywhere. He's got bummed legs." Alfred responded, not even attempting to catch the rope. Arthur made a comment about his legs being well enough to give Alfred a swift kick in the rear and but both cowboys ignored him, their eyes locked in a defiant glare.

"Not what I was meanin.' Don't want 'im creepin' 'round camp durin' the night. I ain't gettin' frisked or cut by some foreigner. Now tie 'im up."

"I said nah." Alfred responded back, kicking the rope off his boots and turning his horse's head around to go find a spot to settle for the night.

Suddenly a rough hand on Alfred's shoulder yanked him back forcing him to let go of the horse and Arthur as he was thrown to the ground. The tall blond hit the hard earth with a thud and gasped. He looked up to the other cowboy looming over him, the length of rope in his gloved hand again.

"I said to do it, Yank, and you're gonna do it or I will." The man threatened and dropped the rope on Alfred's chest. "Don't make me say it again." He turned and walked away to the other side of the fire.

Alfred groaned and got back to his feet, picking the rope up and walking back to Arthur and his horse. Arthur started to speak but Alfred clapped his hand over the Brit's mouth to silence him a moment, before turning him around. He brought Arthur's wrists behind his back, looping the rope expertly as he tied them together before bringing the rope back around his torso to bind his now useless arms to his middle.

"You fucking git! What the bloody Hell do you think you're doing? How dare-!"

"Arthur!" Alfred yelled sternly and the Brit hushed and looked back at Alfred to see the taller's bleary, tired eyes silently pleading to him. They weren't cruel at all, only weary and desperate. He raised an eyebrow in question.

"Please, just be quiet, would ya?" He asked with a heavy sigh and finished the knot. He took up the horse's lead and Arthur's arm again and led them both to a more secluded part of the camp, which was lightly sheltered by rocks.

He sat Arthur down against the rocks so he could lean back comfortably and finally tied the horse to a nearby rock. He undid the straps holding his Spencer Carbine and sleeping roll. He slung the gun over his shoulder by the strap and the roll under his arm to walk back to the little camp. He set the gun gently on its side and undid the roll; all the while avoid Arthur's accusing glare. When he set the gun down Arthur smirked. He knew a bit about guns. Enough to know the weapon was beautiful and new and likely well out of Alfred's typical price range.

"That's a very nice weapon for a cattle driver." He commented and squirmed against his bonds some.

"Couple months worth of wages, but she's worth it." Alfred answered blandly, still prepping his sleeping arrangements. "Better than what we had in the war."

"War?"

"The War of the States. Confederates versus the Union." Alfred answered and lay down on the cushioned material, lying close to Arthur.

"I take it you served?" Arthur inquired, finally ceasing his struggling. He was still furious at Alfred for tying him up, but his curiosity really was insatiable.

"Yeah, I fought for the Union. That's probably why the others don't like me much."

Arthur furrowed his brows. He'd certainly heard of the Americans' war, though it had already passed and hadn't involved him, besides business trade at home.

"What has it got to do with that?" He asked watching the American shift uncomfortably.

"After the war, a lot of the Confederates were hard pressed for jobs. No one wanted to hire losin' soldiers coming home from the battlefield. Good riders with good aim and the roughness ya need out here makes bein' a cowboy or cowhand yer only choice."

"So the others, they're ex-Confederates?"

"Yeah, some of 'em and they still holdin' grudges." The cowboy set his head down on the material, stretching out on his side.

Arthur nodded and waited a few moments.

"So soldier, care to untie me now?" He inquired smugly but didn't receive a response. "Alfred? Alfred Jones, are you listening to me?" The Englishman grumbled and stretched his cut leg out to tap Alfred's back, which faced him. Still no response.

"Barmy American! I know you are not asleep!" He snarled out and kicked Alfred's back, swearing as he reopened a cut on his thigh.

"Arthur?" Alfred mumbled and tried not to flinch as another kick hit his back.

"What!" Arthur roared.

"Go to sleep, please?" The cowboy pleaded with a soft sigh and felt the shoe on his back retreat.

Arthur felt his anger dissipate as he drew his leg back. The boy really did sound absolutely exhausted. The shorter blond spent the next few minutes watching the cowboy relax and finally drift to sleep, his breathing soft and even.

As Alfred's soft snores filled the air, Arthur squirmed until he managed to get his fingers into his trouser pockets and fished around. The Englishman clicked his tongue as he carefully pulled the slick gold penknife from his pocket. Undoing the cap with a bit of maneuvering he turned the blade to slice at the ropes binding his wrists. A few minutes later, he had the ropes frayed and lying in a slack circle around himself.

Recapping the penknife and slipping it back in his pocket, he scooted up to the sleeping American.

"Really now, Alfred? Didn't think to search me for anything?" Arthur chuckled. "You're rather lucky I owe you a favor. Anyone else and my knife would have been meant for their throat." He muttered darkly, knowing Alfred couldn't comprehend the information in his sleep.

The Brit sighed and rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. It had been a long day for Arthur as well and he lowered himself to the ground facing away from Alfred; their shoulder blades brushed. Even though the air was chill without the warmth of the other cowboys' fire nearby, Alfred's body heat seeping through their clothing warmed the Brit well enough.

The cowboy muttered something in his sleep as the Englishman's back brushed his and Arthur smiled lightly.

"Good night, you bloody brute." The shorter mumbled and let sleep claim him with a tiny sigh.

**A/N: so let me just explain the history tid bits if anyone cares.**

**Yes, Alfie did serve in the Civil War; however you'll notice I didn't call it that. It's very rare for a 'civil war' to be called a civil war during or right after it's ended. I'm not sure when it started to be called the American Civil War. However since the story is set in 1870 which is about 5 years after it ended I wasn't sure it would be called that at the time. It was however referred to as the 'War of the States' by some and I think even by some generals so I went with that. You all got the idea, right?**

**Alfie's gun is a Spencer Carbine 1865 .45, 7 shot. It's a levered gun that shoots very quickly for the time. It shot about as fast a common revolver and was extremely reliable. By this time though guns had begun to be very expensive, especially on a cowboy's crappy salary. Many cowboys went unarmed (gun wise at least) on some of these trails. Hollywood will tell you otherwise, but they'd done so for some long amount of years so yeah... btw, the part about months worth of salary to afford? Tru factz. ;)**

**Civil war veterans often did move west after the war. Hardships certainly did hit the South after the war and being a cowboy was a perfect match for many soldiers' skill set. There was a quite a bit grudging held after the loss of the Confederacy even though the majority of people were tired of the fighting. I'd imagine the common soldier would feel rather poorly as well. Alfie being an ex-Union soldier makes him a perfect target for the sore ex-Confederacy cowboys around him.**

**And now you know why Alfie is miserable around his fellow cowboys! They practically want to shot the guy...Hell they were only doing just that for 4-ish years!**

**The pen knife. Marvelous little toy if I do say so myself! You could very well write with it, but the end held a wedge shaped blade. It wasn't a machete but it could cut rope and skin with a little effort.**

***End history rant***

**Do feel free to correct me if I was wrong. I'm taking AP US History this coming year so I did do some early research on the course! That and I simply love History so I just looked up random things and keep bits of info like this. I'd love to learn more if anyone wants to let me in on it! :D**

**Reviews. They make me smile. :D**


	4. Drag Riders

**American Trains**

**Chapter 4: Drag riders**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: Another speed write! Let me first address all the wonderful reviews!**

**ykwyh26: Ahhh what's a 100 years between firearms, right? No, you are absolutely correct. It should have been a Spencer Carbine 1865. Thank you for pointing that out! Yeah tetanus is defiantly a huge concern, also Hero is such a perfect name for the horse. I'm really leaning to that! :D**

**princesspug: Never seen it, but now you have me curious! I'll have to watch it some time! Thanks for the name idea, it's def. a neat choice.**

**CaptainCynical: Pegasus is a cool name, but i'm not sure it fits into the theme. I've certainly got an idea for all the names though. Thanks for the input. ;)**

**To everyone else: Wow I'm so glad to see so many history buffs! It also makes me feel a lot better about researching this stuff knowing people actually appreciate it. ;) Also yes, Arthur is quite the mystery man isn't he? You'll have to wait a bit longer because I plan on building this a bit more and really researching into this and his role more. Hehe**

**Without further ado, I give you chapter 4!**

Alfred groaned and reluctantly opened his eyes to the first rays of sunlight starting to peer over the desert horizon. He raised a sleep numb hand to fix his askew glasses, since he'd forgotten to remove them before falling asleep. A few moments of lying still and blinking sleep away brought the cowboy to sensory alertness and he found himself to be much warmer and comfortable than usual. Straining his neck, Alfred smiled seeing Arthur's sleeping form curled up next to him. The cowboy rolled over on his opposite side and shook Arthur's shoulder.

"Hey, it's about time to be gettin' up." He muttered sleepily. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible and opened his eyes.

"It's still fucking dark out!" He groaned in his sleep hoarse voice. Alfred chuckled and sat up.

"Nah, sun's comin' up."

Arthur rolled on his back and glared at the offending fiery star as it rose higher above the horizon line, leaving delicate gold and orange streaks across the sand and dissolving the darkness inch by inch.

"Hey! Wait just a minute!" Alfred suddenly exclaimed, startling Arthur and the cowboy whirled back to stare down at him. "I coulda sworn I tied ya up last night!"

"Indeed you did." Arthur replied with cocky chuckle and grabbed the frayed rope at his side. He dropped it in Alfred's lap. "And it appears you did a poor job of it."

The cowboy narrowed his eyes and examined the rope.

"Looks to me like ya cut it. I know how to tie a rope just fine, Mr. Kirkland."

"A brilliant deduction, my dear brute!" Arthur rolled his eyes and sat up himself. Alfred sighed and quickly looped the rope around Arthur's middle.

"What do you think you're doing, you twit?" He exclaimed, squirming and kicking to get away.

"Quit fussin'! I ain't really gonna tie ya up but ya gotta at least look like it! Can't ya just pretend or the others are gonna be mad!" Alfred explained and pulled the smaller blond back to him and proceeded to very loosely tie a knot in the ropes.

"I'll have you know that I don't like this one bit!" The emerald-eyed man muttered as he barely allowed Alfred to tie him back up.

"Ya don't have to. I'm sure there's a town nearby, I've been seein' more signs 'a people living out here the farther we've been goin' on this trail. Town's gotta be here somewhere and once we find it we'll drop ya off and you can take these here ropes off and go on your way. How's that sound?" Alfred felt his stomach knot up even as he said the words. He'd only known the Brit for a few odd hours but he'd really grown fond of him. It was someone to talk to besides his horse. Someone who he didn't constantly fear might put a bullet in the back of his head when he wasn't looking.

"Sounds... fine I suppose." Arthur muttered looking down at his cut legs. Alfred nodded and once he'd finished, he assisted Arthur to his feet. The Englishman waited beside Alfred's horse while the cowboy rolled up his sleeping bag and shouldered his gun.

"Hey, Arthur?" He asked as he clipped the roll back to the horse's saddle packs.

"Hmm?"

"How'd ya cut them ropes?"

"I'm not obliged to disclose that with you."

"Wha? How come?" Alfred inquired and secured the Carbine against the saddle.

"Because I don't bloody feel like it! That's why!" Arthur growled back. "Now help me up!" He ordered and the American obliged, boosting Arthur up onto the saddle. He followed after and settled in the saddle. With a light kick the horse snorted and started off back toward where the other cowboys were finishing up packing and stomping out what remained of the fire.

By the time they'd reached the rest of the cowboys everything seemed set. The trail boss had the others in a semicircle around him with his point man, the cowboy who'd forced Alfred to tie Arthur up, at his side. They entered the semicircle and the trail boss took the morning head count.

"Now that y'all is here, let's start movin' on. Trail ain't too much longer so hustle! Al and Jem take swing! Joshua wi-"

"Wait a minute, sir." The point man interrupted and glanced at Alfred with a malicious smirk. The blond felt his blood heat up but he refused to do anything more than glare back.

"Ya got some nerve interuptin' me, Cole. This better be good." The trail boss said in a throaty growl.

"It is, sir, don't worry. I was just fixin' to point out to ya that Al shouldn't be takin' swing."

"And why's that?" The tall cowboy inquired, anger threading his words. "I always take swing!"

"It's true, Cole, and Alfred's damn good at it too. What's the big idea, son?" The trail boss added with eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How's he supposed to be takin' swing when he's got that there foreigner to deal with? I certainly wouldn't want to have to swing with some stranger in the saddle behind me. Might distract 'im, and we wouldn't want to lose cattle 'cause 'a that, now would we? Let Alfred and his new buddy take drag; even he can't screw that up."

"Why you low-down, dirty, rotten piece of-" Alfred started, leaning forward in the saddle and teeth gritted in anger.

"Cole's got a point." The trail boss interjected.

"But, sir!" Alfred looked pleadingly to the trail boss.

"No 'buts,' son, take drag until we find a place to drop the stranger off. I ain't losin' my profits just 'cause yer heart's too big for this here desert. Next time you'll think twice before pickin' up stray foreigners." The trail boss turned his mount and finished giving the days orders and the cowboys started off.

Cole trotted his horse past Alfred.

"Have fun playin' in the dust, Yank." He howled with laughter and spurred his horse ahead to take point.

Alfred clenched his hands on the reins until he thought he might tear a muscle if he squeezed any harder. He gave his horse an angry kick and started off behind the cattle herd.

"I'm sorry." Arthur muttered, his eyes cast to the surrounding desert.

"Fer what? Ain't yer fault Cole's the way he is." The cowboy responded, voice falling from anger to defeat.

"If I hadn't been in that barbwire, you'd probably be a lot better off." The guilt swelled up in his chest. Already the dust from the cattle was kicking up and stinging his eyes and it must have been worse for Alfred.

"Coulda been barbwire or rattlesnakes or an old lady chasin' ya, I still woulda helped ya." Alfred said and glanced back at the despondent Arthur. "Hey buck up! Ain't nothin' wrong with ridin' drag. Used to do it all the time before I took over swing."

"Oh do shut up and accept the apology, Alfred. They're few and far between." The Brit said with a quick smile.

"Alright, if it makes ya feel better, I forgive whatever ya think ya did." The American shrugged and set his hat lower on his head.

"I just got one more question though." Alfred said and flicked the reins to spur the horse to a slightly different angle. Arthur groaned.

"Get on with it then."

"What were you doin' tangled up in that wire anyway?" When Arthur didn't respond, Alfred twisted in the saddle to look at him. "Ya hear me, Arthur?"

"I heard you, git!" He retorted and avoided Alfred's eyes.

"So then how come ya didn't answer me?" Alfred inquired again.

Arthur sighed.

_Because telling you the truth would only make it worse for you, my dear sweet brute._

The Englishman thought. When Alfred insisted again, the shorter blond scrambled his mind for some sort of plausible lie.

"You'd laugh at me if I were to tell you." He led on, still sorting out a story in his mind. Alfred laughed.

"Nah I wouldn't!" He responded, regaining his smile.

"You just did!" Arthur exclaimed.

"Just tell me!" Alfred playfully elbowed Arthur and Brit sputtered.

"Fine! Have you ever heard of a jackalope?" Arthur started, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"Those crazy fake rabbits?"

"They're real, you bloody American!"

"Nah they ain't! What are ya, some two year old? Rabbits with horns ain't real!"

"Fine, then I won't continue." Arthur said dismissively and gave a devilish smirk as Alfred whined.

"Aww, don't be like that Mr. Kirkland. What's jackalopes got to do with ya being all wrapped up in barbwire?"

"Very well, I suppose I'll tell you then. Well I'd heard a rumor that a jackalope had been spotted near here." Arthur flawlessly lied. He knew jackalopes weren't real, but the American kept looking back at him with transfixed eyes. He really did want to hear the tall tale.

"But not just any jackalope, might I add. But a mint green jackalope!" Alfred's glass blue eyes grew wide.

"Are you tellin' me someone really thought they saw a green jackalope?"

"Indeed I am. Now being the curious man I am, I set out to find this mysterious mint jackalope. While I was walking I swore I saw it dive into a bush so I rushed after it! I became so enamored with catching the elusive mint jackalope that I hadn't noticed the old barbwire left on the ground. I assume it was from someone's old farm."

Alfred nodded. It did happen. Abandoned farms sometimes left their wire on the ground and the dust would blow over and hide it pretty well until some poor fellow managed to find it wrapped about their feet.

"Anyway, it became so entangled around my legs as I searched that bush that by the time I had noticed it I was too entrapped to free myself." Arthur trailed off.

"And that's when a good ol' hero arrived and saved ya." Alfred added and laughed. The Englishman scoffed but allowed Alfred's little self-flattery. He didn't feel right correcting the taller as the guilt from the blatant lie sat uneasily in his gut.

"Well, I guess that makes sense but just don't go runnin' off on me if ya see that crazy green rabbit again." Arthur chuckled.

"I assure you, I'm over searching for it."

_Does_ _he really believe that load of rubbish_? He wondered. He certainly did hope so. He'd rather Alfred think of him as a bit crazy then having to tell the truth.

_What_ _he doesn't know can't hurt him, right? Oh you know that's not true!_He mentally argued with himself before Alfred's voice brought him back to reality.

"Look!" Alfred pointed at a slight elevation and Arthur had to squint against the sun and dust to see just what the cowboy was alerting him to. He saw it within a moment though, and his heart dropped.

Buildings: A long row of them silhouetted by the sun. They'd found the town Alfred and the Trail boss had mentioned.

It wasn't long before the Trail Boss had dropped back down to the rear and rode beside Alfred and Arthur.

"Go set your charge up in that there town, Al. We'll drive slow so ya can catch up but don't stray long, ya hear?" He ordered and didn't wait for Alfred's response before riding back up to point with Cole.

Alfred sighed and turned his horse away from the herd and towards the town.

"I didn't realize how close we were to it. Thought we'd have more time to talk before I had to send ya off." The American muttered and felt his chest tighten. He doubted Arthur felt the same way, but the cowboy was more than happy to call the sharp-tongued Brit a friend, even if he'd only known him a short time.

"Where does the time go?" Arthur mumbled in return, feeling the same familiar tightening in his chest. He rather did like the blue-eyed cowboy, much more than anyone else he'd met in his short time in America.

When they reached the edge of the town Alfred dismounted and helped the tied Arthur down and freed him of the loose rope.

"I'll at least put ya up in a lodge. Wouldn't want ya sleepin' on some store porch." Alfred said and led his horse, with Arthur by his side, through the small town.

"I have plenty of money, Alfred. You don't need to do that." Arthur responded eyes watching anywhere but the American next to him. Alfred shrugged.

"It makes me feel better. Just let me, alright?"

"Fine."

They remained silent the rest of the walk until they came upon a place with vacant rooms. Alfred loosely tied his horse to the post and vowed to make this quick: both to avoid a long goodbye to Arthur and to avoid losing his horse to a sticky-fingered thief.

Entering, Alfred immediately sought someone to pay the room fee to and left Arthur standing awkwardly by the entrance. When he returned with the room information Arthur thanked him and steadied himself.

"I suppose this is goodbye."

"Yeah," was Alfred's only response. Arthur moved to go to his now paid room when suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around his chest. He squeaked indignantly but relaxed as Alfred hugged him tighter.

"Take care 'a yerself, ya hear me Mr. Kirkland?" He said affectionately.

"I will you fucking git, now unhand me!" Arthur teased and the cowboy obeyed yet again. Alfred nodded, turned and exited the lodge with a quick wave.

The Englishman gave a hefty sigh then proceeded up to his room. He missed the American bloke already.

Outside again Alfred patted his horse's neck. The steed gave a soft nicker.

"Yeah, I'll miss 'im too." He played lightly with frayed tips of the horse's mane and spared a look around. Just across the dusty way and a few buildings down Alfred could see the looming sign of a saloon.

"I could really use something stiff about now." He muttered and led the animal across the way, determined to forget the ache in his chest with the aid of some hard liquor.

**A/N: Oh noes! Alfie and Arthur seperated? What in the world am I thinking? :P**

**No worries, it's not the end, not by a long shot and the separation certainly won't be permanent. ;)**

**Btw, everyone remembers Flying Mint Bunny, right? Meet his cousin, the Elusive Mint Jackalope. I couldn't resist when the idea hit me.**

**Now for the minor history notes here:**

**The trail boss is he who keeps the cowboys in order and tried to keep peace.**

**Being Point is the big honor among cowboys. They are the ones who steer the herd and could work alone or in pairs.**

**Swing is also a good position among the cowboys, they rode a bit back from the point and had to be pretty experienced.**

**Drag and Drag riders was one of the lowest positions for a real cowboy. They had to be highly alert and forceful to keep the cattle from slowing. They were swamped by dust and debris from the herd and it was often a very dirty, dangerous and unpleasant job. Alfred dropping from Swing to Drag would be like a slap in the face and that's exactly what mean old Cole intended.**

**I think that covers it! :D Look forward to ya'll thoughts/reviews!**


	5. Blood, Sex and Alcohol

**American Trains**

**Chapter 5: Blood, Sex and Alcohol**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: Well hello again, my dearies! Again, I'll address the reviews and tease you all a bit before shutting up and letting you read this chapter. The speculation on Arthur? Hehehe, I think reading this will give you a bit of a hint. I did foreshadow it a smidgen in a few chapters earlier, but I'll admit it wasn't too noticeable. Arthur and Alfred's relationship? Not romantic at this point. You have to remember, Alfred is a very, very lonely soul. He hasn't had a real friend since leaving the East for the life of a cowboy. When you've only got a horse that doesn't want you dead or maimed, you tend to cling to any form of kindliness you can. Arthur is Alfred's one shot at a friend after being lonely all those years. He's bound to be heart-broken having to leave him, y'know?**

**As for Alfred to Arthur. Maybe if you knew a bit more about his past you'd understand why he likes the American. However, you don't and it's too much fun to keep ya'll in suspense. ;) You'll find out eventually. Promise! *grins innocently***

**Also the horse name; I've settled on Hero, so thank you kywyh26! I liked the other names as well so as a tribute to you all I've ingrained it into the story. Read to see! :)**

**Warnings: Swearing, blood, character death, alcohol abuse and some heat... ;)**

**Thanks for being a wonderful audience and let the show commence!**

Arthur lay on his back, gazing up at the off-colored ceiling and exposed rafters above him. He'd kicked off his shoes and already tried to wash out his scabbed cuts as best he could. The runny pink water in the washbasin was evidence of the stinging labor. While his legs throbbed, his mind whirled with thoughts.

_What to do now? I was hoping those cattle drivers would take me further West or North than this dusty town._

The Englishman rolled over on his side and absently plucked at the soft sheets of the lodge bed.

_What_ _are you worrying for, old chap? There's no reason to be worried, right?_

His thoughts then strayed back to a certain blond, blue-eyed cowboy.

_Oh he'll be fine! He's probably already back with his brutish gang, getting harassed, fighting with Cole, still riding drag, maybe getting trample or gored by a bull or…_Arthur inhaled deeply then exhaled sharply.

_What_ _do I care anyway? He's just another beastly American cattle driver. There are hundreds of them! What's one more, right? But I do care. What's wrong with me?_

Arthur gave up on his frantic thoughts and sat up, knotting his fingers in the sheets as he did so. Running those said fingers through his messy blond locks, he spared a look out the window. His eyes widened in surprise; it was already dark out! He hadn't thought that washing, getting a quick nap and occupying himself with thoughts of his fast-made friend would pass the time so quickly.

_I must have slept longer than I thought._

The Englishman reasoned and rose. Maybe a walk around the little town would clear his head. He gave an exasperated sigh looking down at his torn pants legs and dust-choked attire.

_Maybe_ _a visit to the tailor as well_.

Settling on that idea, Arthur headed downstairs after slipping his shoes back on. He informed the lodge keeper he'd be out for a bit, to which the busty woman only nodded and returned to polishing the windows.

Once outside, Arthur inhaled the chill night air and smirked. Now then, to first find that tailor. He'd return in the morning for measurements, but for now, finding it would do. Stepping off the porch, Arthur rested his hands in his pockets as he started to walk across the way. Just as he finished crossing, something in the shadowed alleyway between the saloon and the general store caught his eyes. A slouched figure with their back against the saloon and legs drawn up to their chest.

_Some drunk git._

Arthur reasoned and glanced through the windows of the general store just for good measure. He examined a few things through the window nonchalantly until the soft clatter of hooves and a hot puff against his neck startled the Brit.

"What the-?" He turned to gaze into a pair of deep brown eyes belonging to a very familiar horse. "Aren't you Alfred's horse?" he asked aloud and mentally smacked himself.

_Did_ _I really just expect an animal to answer me?_

The horse snorted again, tossing its head. The Englishman narrowed his eyes and moved to the animal's side to clear his suspicions. Sure enough, the expensive and well kept Carbine was securely strapped to the saddle.

"Then where's Alfred?" Arthur muttered aloud and a thought clicked in his head. The emerald eyed man stepped off the store porch and approached the figure slouched in the alleyway. Closer, Arthur could see the cropped blond hair and familiar attire clearly now.

"Alfred!" Arthur knelt down in front of the blond and patted his cheek when the cowboy didn't respond. Alfred groaned and brought his legs closer against his chest and muttered something unintelligible.

Arthur furrowed his brows and tilted Alfred's chin up with a finger. The blond's glasses were missing and his eyes were hazy and sluggishly responding to Arthur lifting his head.

"Hey, Artie." The American slurred with a sloppy grin. "Whatcha doin' out here?" The American felt around the ground until he found the once missing spectacles and perched them on his nose.

Arthur crinkled his nose and sneered. The stench of alcohol on Alfred's breath was enough to make the air around the cowboy very nearly combustible.

"You're drunk. Very drunk, Alfred." The Brit observed and let the American's head drop back. Alfred chuckled with his chin to his chest.

"Yup." He responded, still giggling. The Englishman sighed heavily and moved to sit with his legs crossed in front of the American.

"How much have you had to drink tonight, brute?"

"Dun know." Alfred shook his head and raised both hands for Arthur to see. They were fisted closed and the shorter cocked a thick eyebrow and waited for the American's poisoned nerves to start working the explanation. One finger at a time Alfred started silently counting off how many drinks he'd had.

_One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…_Alfred leered at his hands.

"Damn…outta fingers…." He mumbled and he raised his head again. "I think I drank more." He continued to slur. "But the barman he…" Alfred groaned and had enough sense to turn his head to the side before retching. Arthur sighed and leaned forward to rub the American's back in slow circles.

Panting, the cowboy wiped his mouth with his sleeve after he'd finished and looked back to Arthur with a lopsided grin.

"Sorry, Artie."

"Don't call me that, git. Now then, what were you saying about the barman. He tossed you out, right?"

Alfred shook his head again and groaned.

"Nah. I left after he… uh…"

"After he what, Alfred?" Arthur inquired, growing bored with listening to the American babble and groan.

"He…uh…he started touchin' me." He finally slurred out, cheeks burning an even brighter red than just the drunk flush. Arthur nearly choked.

"He what?" The Brit asked wide-eyed. Had he heard that right?

"Y'know…not like handshake touch…but like…" Alfred reached his hand out and drew his fingers slowly over Arthur's chest, down to his stomach and the Englishman gasped in surprise. He inched back and Alfred slurred out a babbling apology.

"Sorry, sorry! I was just a' tryin' to explain…I'm sorry, Artie!"

"Stay here, you bloody fucking git." He ordered recomposing himself and standing. He walked over to the horse still standing patiently at the porch of the general store. Arthur took the horse's bit and bridle mount and led him to Alfred.

"Stay here, and keep him company, would you?" He laughed darkly as the horse snorted and padded to stand by Alfred's side. It brushed its nose into Alfred's hair and the cowboy giggled and started petting his horse's velvety muzzle.

_Now to deal with this overzealous_ _barman._

Arthur thought ominously and stepped onto the saloon porch.

"Artie?" The Englishman stopped short and glanced back at the drunk American, still clutching the horse's nose.

"Are ya mad at me?" The cowboy inquired, blinking heavily.

"I don't hold you accountable for your drunk actions, dear brute, if that's what you mean." Arthur replied, but Alfred seemed to have lost interest in the Englishman's answer and went to play with the horse's forelock.

Arthur scoffed and entered the saloon with a lethal resolve. Inside, the place was nearly empty. Only two people remained, one behind the bar cleaning glasses and another wiping down tables.

The man at the bar raised his head and smiled smugly at Arthur.

"We are about to close, _monsieur._ I will have to kindly ask you to leave." He said in an accent lightly salted with French and returned his blue gaze to the shot glass in his hand.

"Oh, I won't be long, kind sir." Arthur said with a soft smile and sat down at the bar in front of the barman. "Give me a shot of your strongest." He slipped his hand in his suit jacket and produced more than enough money to pay for the drink and slid it over the bar.

The French man cocked a well-groomed brow and pocketed the money before filling up a glass and handing it to Arthur.

"So, what brings you here so late, _monsieur_?" The man asked and took up cleaning glasses again.

"I'm glad you asked. I would love to discuss something with you, good sir. Alone, that is." He said suggestively, giving the man his best devilish grin, then took a sip of the liquor.

The barman returned the look and set down his glass.

"_Hé! Matthieu!_" The barman called and the man cleaning the tables looked up. Arthur noted he looked a lot like Alfred.

"_Oui_?" The table cleaner cocked his head. The two exchanged a few words in French that Arthur couldn't recognize and the man called Matthieu finally nodded and tossed his cleaning rag over the bar before walking away somewhere in the back of the saloon, out of sight.

The barman returned his attention to the Englishman.

"Now then, care to accompany me to my room? It is _very_private up there."

"Sound fine." Arthur said and let the Frenchman lead him up stairs. The barman ushered Arthur in and shut the door behind him. The man ran his fingers through his slightly wavy hair.

"Now, how can I help you, _monsieur_?" He practically purred and drew close to Arthur.

The Englishman smiled and ran his fingers under the Frenchman's chin.

"Do you recall an American from earlier today? Same eyes as yours, very…brutish looking, covered in dust and all?"

The Frenchman chuckled obnoxiously and circled his arms around Arthur's waist, drawing the Englishman against him.

"I do. I wouldn't say brutish though. Rather _beau_, if you were to ask me. Why?" He whispered in Arthur's ear.

"Oh, just curious." Arthur replied and allowed the Frenchman to push him on to the bed behind them. "I heard you tried to fancy him is all." He continued as the other man straddled his waist.

"_Oui_, but he didn't seem to want my affections." The man started to undo the buttons on Arthur's shirt. "Unlike yourself, _monsieur_." He chuckled that obnoxious laugh again.

"Please, call me Arthur." The shorter blond whispered huskily and felt his stomach knot up.

_So_ _Alfred wasn't imagining it. That's all I needed to know._

He thought decisively, shivering as the chill air breezed over his now exposed chest.

"Very well, Arthur. You may call me Francis." The now named man whispered in return and pressed his lips to Arthur's, eyes fluttering shut. Those eyes suddenly flew wide open as something cold and sharp pressed against his throat.

Arthur laced his fingers in the man's hair and yanked Francis' head back, pushing up to reverse their positions. Leaning over the man, Arthur pressed the penknife harder against the man's jugular.

"Well then, Francis, maybe next time you'll learn to keep your hands to yourself." Arthur whispered darkly, his lips against Francis' ear. He chuckled softly. "If only there was a next time." He mumbled again and dragged the blade of knife roughly across the Frenchman's throat in one swift motion.

A wicked grin spread over the Englishman's lips as blood splattered over the knife, sheets and his chest. Francis sputtered, blood rising in his throat and spilling over his tongue and lips. He convulsed and scrambled to grab Arthur's open suit jacket with dying strength. Arthur leaned back and watched his handiwork play out, the blood pouring rapidly from the massive wound cutting across the Frenchman's throat from nearly ear to ear.

Finally, when Francis lay still, Arthur pried the man's locked fingers from his clothing and swung his legs off the bed, standing up with a satisfied smirk.

"You know it didn't have to be this way, Francis." Arthur spoke without looking back at the bloody corpse on the bed. "But, you should have known better than to try and frisk a friend of Arthur Kirkland." He licked the blood off his fingers and swiped the penknife over his trousers to wipe the blood away. Capping the blade, he looked back. "Good night, Francis. Rest in peace." He exited the room and shut the door silently behind him so as not to alert Matthieu.

He went behind the bar and grabbed a clean rag and washed the blood from his face and chest before buttoning his shirt back up. The dark green of the suit jacket hid the excess splatters in the darkness of the night as he exited the saloon.

Stepping off the porch and into the alley, Arthur found Alfred and the horse just as he'd left them. The animal whinnied and sidestepped away from Arthur as he approached. Its ears pinned back.

"Relax, old chap. I was doing your master a favor is all." He said and knelt in front of Alfred again.

"Artie, where'd ya go and why ya scarin' Hero for?" he asked, bleary eyes heavily lidded.

"Who?" Arthur inquired.

"Cisco."

"What?"

Alfred groaned.

"The horse." Arthur looked back at the animal as Alfred pointed to the mount as it stomped its hooves, still flighty of the gore-scent on Arthur.

"Alfred, you can't even remember your horse's name?"

"I miss Lincoln and the boys. I wanna go home Artie…" Alfred slurred out and dropped his head again.

"I said stop calling me that." Arthur complained and tried to help the American stand. He wobbled to his feet and leaned heavily on the Englishman. "I'll take you back to the lodge."

Alfred shook his head, the wheat-gold hair whipping about.

"I wanna go home…"

"Alfred, you're a cowboy. You're practically a nomad."

"Got a house in Pennsylvania… I wanna go back." He continued his speech about home and Pennsylvania as Arthur led him back to the lodge, while the horse followed behind at a distance.

He looked back at the animal, but decided it probably wasn't going anywhere without Alfred and didn't bother tie the animal up.

Arthur barely managed to get the heavy and wobbly American up the stairs and into his lodge room, but eventually made it with only a few awkward slips. He gingerly laid the cowboy out on the bed and listened to the taller blond babble some more. Luckily the lodge keeper hadn't been downstairs to see them.

"Y'know what Artie?"

The Englishman grit his teeth at the nickname but settled for patience.

"What, you twit?"

"I'ma' kill the bastard that shot Lincoln. Yeah, that's what I'm gonna do…. kill that bastard."

"He's been dead for five years, Alfred." Arthur responded drawing a rag from the washbasin and cleaning the tacky remnants of blood from his hair.

"Nah…bastard ran away… I'll find 'im and kill 'im. Stupid bastard…"

Arthur only sighed and wrung the cloth out to repeat the process.

"Go to sleep, Alfred." Arthur ordered.

"Ok…hey, Artie?" Said man snarled.

"What?"

"Where were ya?" Alfred mumbled over a yawn and settled in under the bed sheets.

"Taking care of business, you oaf, now go to sleep."

"Ok, G'night Artie."

"Good night." Arthur finished and set the washbasin away. Looking down, he sighed. Now he really did need a visit to the tailor. Sporting a blood stained shirt was not on Arthur's list of good ideas.

**Yeah, I did just off France. *shot***

**Sorry FrUk fans! Nothing too juicy for ya'll unless you're into blood play! :P**

**Not much History in this one other than after Lincoln was shot in 1865, the man who killed him, Booth did run away and escape to Virginia. He was cornered in a barn and killed by Union soldiers after a firefight. Of course even back then conspiracy theories floated about... Al's just too tanked to remember if he really was killed or not.**

**I tried not to use too much French as I don't know it and we all know how well Google translate works. -_-**

**here are the words and meanings, just in case:**

**Hé! Mathieu! = Hey! Matthew!**

**Oui(?) = yes(?)**

**Beau = attractive, good-looking, hot, beautiful. Something of that sort, y'know.**

**So, now you know why Arthur really carries that penknife. ;)**


	6. Darkness and Light

**American Trains**

**Chapter 6: Darkness and Light**

**A/N: Welcome back, my lovelies! :D**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**I'm so happy to bring you the newest chapter in American Trains along with a large chunk of my research (which will be at the bottom A/N as per normal)**

**Addressing Reviews. I have gone through and corrected the noted grammar and historical mistakes. Thank you for pointing them out! I feel myself getting sloppier and I apologize for that. Trying to finish these chapters in a timely fashion, balance work and my social life leave's me somewhat scattered! :) I appreciate the patience and kindliness!**

**Thanks for being a fabulous audience and enjoy this rather long chapter (per my standards)!**

Alfred woke the next morning to a temporarily blinding headache and a burning light filtering in through a window. With a miserable groan he rolled over, burying his head in the pillow to avoid the light streaming in from the window of the lodge room. Feeling absolutely miserable he curled up and tried to fall back asleep, even as a hand shook his shoulder.

"Get up, git. We need to leave." Arthur's voice ordered far too loudly for Alfred's sensitive hangover hearing. He groaned and tried to bury further into the bedding, ignoring the slight pain of his glasses digging into his face. "I said, 'get up!'" Arthur ordered again and gave Alfred a rough shove that sent the American tumbling off the bed.

The cowboy yipped in surprise and valiantly tried to fight his way out of the covers, but after a few moments (and an amused snicker from Arthur) the blond forewent his pride and gave up. Closing his eyes he attempted to shut out the throbbing pain between his temples.

"As amusing as that was, we still need to leave." Arthur said as he leaned over the bed, peering down at the tangled cowboy with intense green eyes. Alfred peeled his eyes open to meet that said intense gaze.

"Arthur?" Alfred asked, a bit stunned and very hungover

"Multi-task, my dear brute." He said and got off the bed to drop a fresh pair of denims and folded gray shirt at the edge of the bed. "Dress while you talk. I'm in a hurry."

"Uh, thanks?" He muttered and blearily looked over the clothing. "Where did you-?"

"The general store across the way. While you slept the morning away I took the liberty of buying you something fresh while I had my suit tailored."

"That's mighty nice of ya, Arthur!" Alfred slowly managed to peel the sheet away now that he was more awake and eventually got to his feet. Rubbing his temples, he went on to ask what he'd meant from earlier.

"So, why do we need to leave in a hurry?"

"Do you plan on ever catching up to your gang of barbarians?" Obviously he ignored the question, pointing out Alfred's situation instead.

Alfred sputtered, suddenly remembering that the trail boss had specifically told him to be quick. He'd wasted an entire afternoon, night and morning already! As much as it pained his aching head he scrambled for the new clothes and rapidly stripped of his old ones.

Arthur looked away and started to absently examine the small chest of drawers on the other end of the lodge room. Alfred's predicament wasn't the only reason Arthur wanted to forget this dusty cow town. By now, he was sure that Matthieu would be wondering about Francis, maybe even have found the body too. He'd already visited the small corral just outside of the town and purchased a horse for himself. He needed to get out this town, and fast.

_I should have left last night_.

He thought miserably, only he'd wanted to say a real goodbye to the American first and least try to repay him with some new clothes. The boy certainly needed them. The faded rustic shirt he'd worn previously was threadbare and the arms cut in some places. His denims weren't much better.

Arthur spared a glance back to see Alfred shoving his boots back on.

"Alfred, I have to go. Thank you for rescuing me and all that soppy rubbish. I hope all works out for you." He said and moved toward the door.

"Arthur." Alfred stood: finally finished dressing, though he felt like his headache had intensified.

"What now?" The Brit grumbled. He really needed to leave; anymore stalling in his escape would be lethal.

"Uh, I don't really know how to be sayin' this but…"

"Then don't. I'm in a hurry." Arthur retorted a bit harsher than he had meant and opened the door, walking forward and tried to slam it shut behind him. Panic was starting to swell in his chest.

_I_ _need to leave, now!_

Only the door didn't slam and Arthur wasn't running down the stairs to leave because Alfred was there, his body barring the door and his hand latched around Arthur's upper arm.

"Hold on there, Arthur. You ain't actin' normal. What in the world's eatin' ya?"

Arthur snarled and slammed his elbow into Alfred's gut. The cowboy released him with a pained gasp. The Englishman sprinted down the stairs, bursting out the door of the lodge and dashing to the tie post. He fumbled with the reign knot in his nervous fingers. Just as the triumph of undoing the knot rose up, Arthur found his American friend's fingers in a death grip on his shoulder.

"Let go of me!" Arthur roared, swinging his arm back in a bout of rage. His fist struck Alfred's jaw in a vicious backhand that sent the cowboy sprawling on his back. Arthur straightened himself and looked back at Alfred who was starting to wobble back to his feet.

"What the bloody Hell is with you Americans and grabbing people? I'm fucking sick of being man handled!" The Brit screamed and set his foot in the stirrup of the saddle mounted on his freshly purchased dapple-grey mare. Swinging himself up, he kicked the horse to make his escape of the town. The horse started off but reared, tossing her head as Alfred ducked in front of the horse, grabbing the bit and bridle mount.

The cowboy kept the mare's head down and glared death at Arthur from between the mare's pinned ears. Arthur could plainly see the red mark that would certainly bruise against Alfred's strong jaw.

"Let go of the horse or I'll trample you, git." He warned in a low growl. "I need to leave."

"Ya got to leave, huh? What for? What the hell ya runnin' from Arthur? Me?"

"Don't be ridiculous, you fucking stupid brute!" Arthur kicked the horse again and the mare threw her head up, painfully yanking Alfred's shoulder but he kept the horse under control.

"Then what the Hell is it?" Alfred yelled back while the mare struggled in his grip.

"Nothing! Now let go!" Arthur bared his teeth in a feral sneer and kicked the horse harder. This time Alfred couldn't hold the mare's head as she reared and skirted around him.

As the animal passed him at a hard gallop, Alfred made one last desperate attempt to prevent Arthur from leaving. He snagged both hands on Arthur's trouser leg and tugged. The startled Brit came crashing down on top of Alfred and the two rolled to the dusty ground.

Furious, Arthur threw a wild punch to strike Alfred's already bruised jaw as they tussled in the dust.

"Would ya stop hittin' me already!" Alfred bellowed and grabbed Arthur by his upper arms and threw him to the ground, rolled on top and pinned his arms to the ground. The Brit hissed as his back hit the ground but never stopped fighting. He bucked wildly, spitting insults and trying to bite Alfred's arms.

The cowboy bit his lip in pain as the emerald-eyed blond's teeth sank into his skin, even through the new shirt said blond had bought for him. Even though the well-muscled cowboy had a clear advantage over his thinner, more petite friend, Arthur clearly wasn't going to calm down. He didn't want to, but he wasn't about to lose to Arthur and Alfred slammed his fist into Arthur's gut with enough force to stun and wind the Brit.

The man beneath him groaned and practically went limp. He panted shallowly to try and regain his breath refusing to meet the American's accusing, yet pained glare. Did that even really make sense? Why did the cowboy have to look at him like that? It took whatever physical fight he had left out of the Englishman.

"Arthur, what in the world's gotten into ya?" Alfred asked low. Arthur mustered up his anger again and spit in the blue-eyed man's face. The cowboy crinkled his nose and swiped the saliva off his cheek. "Gonna take a lot more 'en that to get me to let ya go, friend."

"Shut the fuck up you stupid, lousy, low-life brute!" Arthur howled back, still panting. "I don't have to answer to you! Let me go or I swear I'll kill you, Alfred Jones!" Arthur was practically seeing red now and the ferocious glint in his eyes startled the cowboy.

Didn't Alfred understand? He had to go! He had to get away before they found him out! Why couldn't the American just let him go? Why didn't he understand the gravity of the situation?

_Because you're a coward._

A little malicious voice echoed in the back of his mind, cruelly taunting Arthur as it always had.

_Because you didn't tell him._

Arthur cringed at the scathingly husky voice in his mind.

_Because you didn't let him on your secret. You didn't tell him you murdered a man in cold blood because he touched my cowboy._

_Because I never told him the truth._

But how could he? He simply couldn't. He'd resolved to keep the secret to himself years ago. What was one more he couldn't tell his secret too? No one could ever know.

Arthur felt the sigh ripple through the American's body as he released his wrists. Alfred looked like he was on the verge of tears, or maybe his eyes were just bloodshot. Nonetheless, the Brit's guilt formed a painful knot in his stomach.

"Arthur, I'm sorr-"

"You two! What the Hell do you think y'all are doin'!" A furious voice shouted. The two looked up to a stout man approaching them on a chestnut horse.

"Get up and get the Hell outta my town if ya two gonna scrap!" He hollered and Alfred heard the distinctive click of a revolver cocking.

The cowboy didn't need any more motivation than that as he scrambled off of Arthur and ran to his horse. He undid the knot in a flash and swung himself up.

Arthur, still a bit dazed from the hammering fist to his gut managed to get to his feet and looked around for his own horse. She'd stopped on a bit after her rider had been thrown and he moved toward her.

What Alfred assumed was the town's local law keeper obviously didn't think the two were moving fast enough and fired a shot at the ground near Hero's hooves. The startled gelding reared and skirted away, trying to throw his head but the cowboy held the scared animal steady.

The urge to reach for his Carbine made Alfred's fingers twitch. The frustration of dealing with this strange, frighteningly murderous version of Arthur, the pain of not one, but two slugged hits to his jaw and his blinding headache was clearly affecting the cowboy.

Another shot and Alfred unlatched the Carbine upon hearing Arthur yelp. Then a third shot and Alfred set the gun across his lap and turned Hero away. His thoughts whirled painfully. He didn't want to have to shoot the impatient lawman, but years of being shot at and shooting back were still ingrained in Alfred's instincts. Those very instincts only registered that the body they belonged to was being shot at, endangered and survival meant to pull the lever of the Carbine, take aim and destroy the threat. He forced those thoughts down with determination.

He spurred Hero with a swift kick. No other drop of motivation was needed for his horse to dash away from the shooting. Galloping past, Alfred felt a sense of relief spark and settle in his veins seeing Arthur swinging up into the saddle. No blood, no hole, which meant the lawman had missed.

Within a moment, Arthur had caught up with Alfred and Hero and then overtook them. Both riders settled in for an easier pace once the town was out of sight. They rode in silence for what Alfred deemed was far too long; the tension was nearly palpable until Arthur broke the silence

"I absolutely hate you with a fucking bleeding passion, Alfred." The Englishman snarled back.

"Oh." Alfred sighed and set his hat lower on his head, still fighting off the miserable headache.

"You're a fucking idiot. You could have gotten us both killed with your damned stupid stunt. You're lucky that pompous git of a lawman was the poorest shot in this whole blasted, brute infested country!"

"Uh huh." He could only agree, he was in no mood to argue with the fuming Brit.

"Comprehensible sentences, you twit!" Arthur ordered.

"Huh?"

"Stop fucking making noises like a dumb animal and at least try to use a handful of bloody words!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Arthur." Alfred mumbled, bowing his head. He felt beyond miserable at this point and really, there was no point in arguing now. Arthur was on a tirade that the cowboy wanted no part of.

"That's a start, I suppose." Arthur grumbled and fell back to ride beside Al. The cowboy offered an apologetic grin and Arthur's anger melted, slipping back away.

"So, uh, I feel like I'ma' doin' this a lot, but can I ask ya what I was meanin' to from earlier…y'know, before ya started hittin' me?" Alfred asked and brushed his gloved fingers over the tender patch of bruising skin on his jaw.

"Very well." Arthur responded with a hefty sigh.

"Where ya gonna go now?"

_Where am I going to go?_

Arthur wondered.

"I don't know, Alfred." The Brit answered after a moment's pause.

"Uh, well, I was thinkin'"

"That could be potentially fatal."

"What?"

"Never you mind your pretty little head, my brute. Continue your thought." Arthur groaned out.

"Oh, ok? I was just thinkin' that maybe if, ya know, ya didn't have some place to be, ya might wanna come with me?"

"As a cowboy?"

"Well, I guess, yeah. I mean, this trail's almost done so we'd have some time to get ya familiar with the job before we drove the next herd and all."

Alfred cocked an eyebrow as Arthur started a soft chuckle that bloomed into a raucous laughter.

"You really think a gentleman like myself could ever be a beastly cattle driver like you?" The shorter blond asked around a giggle. Al narrowed his eyes.

"They make soldiers into 'lowly cattle drivers.' what's changin' some snob into one?"

Alfred growled back and the Englishman scoffed.

"Snob? Hardly. I'm still talking to you, aren't I? It shows my modesty."

Alfred felt his aching jaw drop. Did Arthur really consider himself modest? He shook his head and chuckled.

"Whatever ya say, Arthur." The cowboy settled. Let Arthur think what he wanted. It was better than the Brit threatening to kill him. Then the thought struck him again; just what had set Arthur off? He glanced at Arthur, wondering if he ought to risk asking.

"As sad as it is, I know that look already. You might as well ask, git." Arthur muttered, startling the American cowboy.

"Why'd ya have to leave so fast, Mr. Kirkland?"

"None of your business." Arthur dismissed.

_I_ _can't tell you. You wouldn't understand._

"It is if ya gonna be travelin' with me."

"Who said I was? I never agreed to your ridiculous proposal."

"Ya didn't say nah." Alfred responded, smiling at Arthur despite the pain in his jaw. The Brit sighed.

"Alfred, there's something different about me."

"Well yeah, I figured that much out."

"I don't believe you understand what I mean."

_No_ _one does._

"So explain it to me."

"It's not that simple."

"Sure it is, ya just-"

"Shut up, Alfred." Arthur ordered and spurred the mare into a gallop.

"Hey!" Alfred called after and kicked Hero into a gallop after the Brit. The two kept the hard pace for a bit until Alfred refused to push Hero any harder and dropped back to an even trot.

Arthur noticed the cowboy drop back and also eased the mare's pace. He still made sure to stay well ahead of the infuriating American to avoid anymore probing questions though.

By the time the sun had begun to dip and tint the sand orange, Alfred could very well see the mass of cattle against the desert backdrop. He sighed with relief.

Coming up on the high ridge of a hill, Arthur paused to allow Alfred to catch up to him. The cowboy tugged Hero to stop and gave his emerald-eyed companion a sidelong look. They remained in silence for a short while until Arthur finally gave in to Alfred's indirect, pleading look and met the glass-blue eyes for a moment.

"I suppose I have no better option. I will stay with you and your barbaric friends until you finish your drive." Arthur surrendered and could practically feel the radiating approval wafting off Alfred as the cowboy beamed.

"Thanks Artie!" Alfred spurred Hero into a canter down the hill to reunite with his fellow drivers.

"I refuse to acknowledge that ridiculous pet name any longer Alfred!" He called and scoffed when the American didn't bother to respond as the chestnut horse carried him away.

Clicking his tongue and with a gentle flick of the reins, the dapple-grey mare started down the hill and Arthur patted her neck.

"Looks as if you'll be doing your share of work now doesn't it, my lovely Cisco?" He muttered to the horse, who snorted and swiveled her ears. "Yes, I rather do like that name." He said with a soft sigh as they came to the bottom of the hill with an airy step.

Alfred had already found the trail boss and Arthur watched from a distance as the two exchanged a dramatic conversation of some sort of Midwestern lingo. Arthur didn't bother to try to interpret the hand gestures that seemed directed at himself either.

Finally, it all seemed settled and Alfred trotted Hero over and grinned triumphantly at Arthur, though his gloved hand massaged his still aching temple.

"Trail boss said ya could come along with us, so long as ya ain't slowin' us down. Don't worry though; we're close to our railhead drop now. It's only about another day's worth of work out."

"And just what sorry town is that?"

"Place called Abilene, we've done plenty a' trails to 'em before." Alfred turned Hero. "C'mon, we're settin' up for the night now."

The two set their own site up as before and tied the reins of their steeds to a set of grassy, rooted bushes. Again, Alfred rolled out his sleeping bag and set his gun down as Arthur watched with his normal, curious, emerald eyes. Alfred was certainly glad for that. The strange murderous glint from earlier today had been unnerving, to say the least.

"Oh, shoot!" Alfred grumbled aloud at a sudden realization.

"Hmm?"

"Ya ain't got nothin' to sleep on."

"I assure you, I'll be just fine, brute."

"Ya sure? 'Cause ya could have mine. I slept on worse than dirt." Alfred offered with a chuckle.

"As generous as it sounds, I'm fine."

"Alright, if ya say so." The taller blond responded and returned to the saddle packs, fishing around in them. He pulled something wrapped in cloth from them and dropped one of the held bundles in Arthur's lap.

"And this is?"

"Food." Alfred unwrapped the bundle, which unveiled a pair of hard breads, and some salt-cured, dried strips of meat. The American sat down with his legs crossed before the Brit and dug into the bread with zeal.

Arthur examined the food skeptically before giving it a few nibbles. It was rather tasteless, other than the dust and salt flavoring, but the Brit suddenly found his stomach cramping with emptiness. He hadn't eaten in at least an entire day.

The two finished the tasteless meal before Alfred rose again, fishing out a canteen of water and gulping down a swallow of it before passing it to Arthur and resuming his seat.

The Englishman took a few sips before he recapped the metal tin and set it aside.

"How's your jaw?" Arthur inquired when Alfred moved to settle in to sleep for the night.

"Sore. How's your gut?" Alfred responded with a giggle.

"Cheeky American bastard." Arthur scoffed. Alfred laughed a bit louder and closed his eyes, yawning all the while.

"Best get some rest, Arthur. Gonna be getting' up early to finish this here trail."

"Take your own advice and shut up, would you?"

"Yes, sir." Alfred said around another yawn and lay his head down. Within moments the cowboy was fast asleep, breathing slow and even.

Arthur watched him, gaze dancing over the cowboy's figure as he slept.

"You're so naïve, my sweet brute." He mumbled, voice low and dark. He sat close enough to reach his hand out and stroke the other blond's wheat gold hair. His fingers slipped from the cowboy's locks to brush the budding bruise on his jaw and Arthur smirked, drawing his fingers down to the American's throat.

"But don't worry. You won't share the same fate as dear Francis. No, you're mine, Alfred Jones. No one will harm you but me." The Brit giggled to himself and finally lay down with his back against Alfred's as before. He closed his eyes and fingered the penknife in his pocket until, at last, sleep claimed him.

**A/N: Ooo, creepy Artie huh? Well we'll get to that soon enough!**

**First though, let's go with history!**

**Cattle drives actually moved rather slow! While at a hard push the cattle and cowboys could do up to 25 to 30 miles in a day it made their cattle suffer and that made their worth decrease. To keep the cattle in top shape for max profits the drivers usually on covered about 10 to 15 miles in a day.**

**This explains why Alfie and Artie managed to catch up. A galloping horse can maintain 40 mile an hour speeds for only a few minutes, however setting a horse at a light canter or trot can easily eat up miles and the horse can maintain the pace for hours.**

**Abilene was actually a booming railhead cow town until the late 1880s. It was a frequented stop from the Texas cattle ranches and their cowboys. Railhead simply means that trains will stop their for shipping. Current Abilene is a small town in Kansas with a population below 7,000.**

**Alfred doesn't suffer from Post Traumatic, as a friend who read this tried to point out. However, being in the military in combat does change some people. The instinct of neutralizing threats does actually become ingrained into the mind set. I've seen it a few time from my father and his ex-military friends.**

**Now then, on to Artie and why he's 'different.' Arthur is afflicted by what is known as Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). You may know it better as split personality disorder. While documentations have seen as many as 45 different personalities in one subject, I'm going to keep it very simple. There are only 2 Arthur personalities. There is normal, sharp-tongued gentleman Arthur and there is dark, possessive and murderously evil Arthur.**

**I'm sure you can tell the difference between the two at the points in the story. Let me point out a few key things that Arthur has done that is often recorded with the disorder.**

**The voice calling him a coward? It's been said those suffering from DID may hear the voices of their alters. The attempt to keep the problem isolated? Denial, to a DID sufferer the fact they may not be who they think they are is difficult to cope with. Arthur's mood swings? Transition between Arthur and Evil!Arthur. In some cases DID sufferers are said to be able to slowly transition from different personalities if certain conditions are met.**

**Bet you can't guess what sets off Evil!Arthur, can you? *Cough*Alfredandthenighttime*cough***

**There are far more symptoms you may see surfacing as well.**

**Now I don't claim to be a doctor, and this information is just research I've gathered via books, the internet, the invisible internet, documentaries and published medical studies.**

**Also I'm not a sufferer of DID, I don't know what it actually feels like, I'm only incorporating what I've read. Don't take it all as tru factz, people. I could be totally wrong; this is just what I've garnered. ;)**


	7. Secrets

**American Trains**

**Chapter 7: Secrets**

**A/N:**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

***sighes* I must say you all have put me in a wonderous bind. Y'know this story wasn't originally meant to be anything more than a two page scene I'd seen in my head one day at work? Now it's this monster of a planned double digit amount of chapters with pages of notes on mental illness, history and american geography, doodles and now even cover art that I drew myself. :) Go look! (remove the spaces and all...hopefully this works).**

**EDIT: hopefully this fixes the link: http: / i439. photobucket. com/ albums/ qq115/ MoonlightFenrir/ Decorated%20images/ AmericanTrains. jpg**

**I can't thank you people enough for doing it to me. Once I saw that first review and got the awesome sense of awesomeness I just had to really spur this thing. Then things collectively spiral out of control until now i actually look forward to pulling up microsoft Word and plotting out strange twists, turns and loops for you people to read and decipher.**

**Even at work I sit and think about this story now and find myself grinning like an idiot everytime I think of a neat new scene or dialoge. :DDD**

**Reviews: Glad I could baffle some of you! ;) Also the dialouge? That's probably my favorite part, so I try extra hard on those parts. I know someone mentioned taking APUSH as well. *highfive* Go APUSH amigas (or amigos, depends if you're a guy or a gal, lol)!**

**Much love and enjoy this chapter that may make you melt a bit (i certainly did)!**

Before the sun could creep over the horizon, Arthur slowly came to wakefulness. In the graying darkness he sighed and rolled over to try and get comfortable again before drifting off. His green eyes widened a bit, meeting only Alfred's golden hair. The Englishman drew in a steadying breath before propping himself up on his arm and letting his free hand trace a few of those stray hairs so similar to his own.

_You like him, don't you?_ Arthur cringed and snapped his hand back at the huskily whispered voice in his head. He drew in another sharp breath and shook off the eerily familiar voice. Braving himself, Arthur draped his fingers over the hairs trailing down the base of Alfred's skull.

_You can't lie to me._The Englishman gritted his teeth and startled as the cowboy groaned. Alfred's eyes fluttered open and Arthur panicked. Surely Alfred's couldn't have heard _him_could he? He glanced down and drew his hand away, noticing that in his fright he'd actually forcefully gripped the American's hair.

"Arthur? Ya really up before me?" Alfred muttered, rubbing his sleepy eyes. "Did I sleep in?"

"No, git. The sun isn't even up yet." Arthur responded and held stock still. Alfred smiled and closed his eyes again. The shorter blond lay himself back down on his side and exhaled the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The cowboy giggled like a child and Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"That tickled." Alfred murmured at the soft breath against his neck.

Arthur punched the American's shoulder blade and flipped back on his other side as a furious heat rushed over his cheeks and ears.

"You're so strange, Mr. Kirkland."

"You have no room to talk, Jones. Now go back to sleep."

"Can I ask ya somethin'?"

"You never cease, why do you even bother asking permission anymore?"

"So can I ask?"

Arthur sighed heavily in exasperation.

"Go on then."

"What makes ya different? Ya never did tell me."

Arthur lay stunned as the cowboy rolled over on his side and locked those curious blues with his own confused emerald ones.

_Tell him what you did. Go on, don't be a coward._The voice mocked the Brit harshly. He wasn't given the chance though as Alfred suddenly reached for the Carbine and was to his feet in one swift blur.

Arthur looked up at the cowboy, who had the gun cradled to his shoulder, clearly aimed. The Brit let his eyes follow the down the barrel of the gun, off from the muzzle to a long set of bushes just across from their camp. The taller blond brought the hammer back on the Carbine.

"Woah! Alfred, put 'er down! It's just me." Alfred lowered the gun and sighed.

"Ya sneak up on us like that again, Cole, and I'ma' shoot ya dead next time." The blue eyed cowboy said in good-nature but Arthur wondered if he could hear the undertone of annoyance as well.

"Nah ya wouldn't, Yank. I doubt ya'd even shoot a lame horse." Cole retorted and stepped up and over the bushes. He had a sneer painted on his lips. Alfred brought the gun to the ground at his side, leaning lightly against it.

"Ya come here to start a fight or did ya want somethin'? Whatcha doin' sneakin' around camp at this hour?"

"Could ask ya the same thing, Yank."

"I ain't been sneakin' around camp. I've been right here the whole night. So's Arthur."

"Seems like he's always strapped to your side." Cole snorted and glared at Arthur who in turn gave him an equally as disgusted leer. "Might wanna watch your back, Alfred, I wouldn't trust 'im as far as I could throw 'im." The other cowboy tipped his hat and turned to walk away.

_He knows. He saw you_. The voice taunted, but quieter now, more resolved. Arthur clenched his fists painfully tight

"What the Hell's 'is problem, eh, Arthur?" The American said with a chuckle and glanced down at Arthur, who was sitting up on his knees. "I mean, look at ya! Ya got as much meat on ya as a fly! Ya ain't armed and you're my friend, after all. What's he think ya gonna do?"

"Are you inferring that I am weak, my dear brute?"

"Nah! Course not!" Alfred laughed and sat down, the gun cradled against his side. He yawned and rubbed his eyes again with the heel of his palm. He let his voice drop low and serious then. "I know Cole, and him snoppin' around ain't normal, though."

"Are you trying to imply something?"

"I'ma' just sayin' somethin' might be up. Especially since he brought ya up. I don't wanna think bad about Cole, but I don't know what he might be up to."

"You really think he'd attempt something drastic?"

Alfred shrugged and set the gun aside to lay on his back with a content sigh.

"I tried to avoid 'im, so I don't really know what he would do or wouldn't, but I doubt it. Cole likes to scheme, but he ain't much of a do-er."

"I see." Arthur indirectly dismissed and watched the cowboy incessantly drum his fingers.

"The sun's gonna rise soon."

"I suppose that means we should be rising with it."

"Yup." Alfred agreed with a chuckle and closed his eyes.

"That doesn't look like rising, if you ask me."

"Didn't ask ya, now did I, friend?"

"Alfred, how long have you known me?" Arthur asked abruptly.

"Uh, all a' three nights?" Alfred asked and slipped a single eye open. "Why ya askin'?"

"Only three nights and yet you keep calling me 'friend.'"

"Why wouldn't I? I mean, ya only yell at me and hit me and call me names and buy me new clothes." The cowboy laughed and flashed a million dollar smile. "What else could a fella like me ask for in a friend, huh?"

"When was the last time you had a friend, Alfred?"

The cowboy's smile faded.

"I've had Hero awhile."

"A _real_ friend, Alfred. Your horse doesn't count."

"Well now I got ya."

"You're poorly avoiding my question."

"Sorta like how ya avoid mine?"

Arthur glared at Al but resigned with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I suppose. Then let's drop the subject and get moving, shall we?"

"Works for me." Alfred agreed and got to his feet to start to repack from the night before. Arthur stayed in his chosen spot and watched Alfred work while his mind worried about Cole. What had the rude other cowboy meant? Had he seen Arthur stroking Alfred's hair? Did he know?

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?" The Brit answer automatically, not bothering to look at Alfred who was already mounted and twirling the reins on Hero.

"Ya comin'?" Arthur then thought to look up and sputtered, he really did need to keep track of time better.

"Of course I am, you twit." He puffed and Alfred waited patiently for Arthur to untie Cisco and swing up into the saddle.

"Ready for ya trainin'?" Alfred asked with a giggle as they both trotted their mounts to join up with the trail boss. It was still early, even by cowboy standards and only two others were formed up before the trail boss.

"No, but I suppose I must." Arthur growled more to himself. The trail boss tipped his hat to Alfred and Arthur as they formed up. The man nodded in approval.

"See ya got yourself a decent lookin' mare. She'll do for now." He said, motioning to Cisco. Arthur gave the man a bored expression and the trail boss mentioned nothing more about Arthur's choice of steed.

"Ya follow Alfred, and don't bother the rest a' my boys and we won't have no problems, ya hear?"

"Very well." The trail boss narrowed his eyes but ignored it as more cowboys and their horses began to filter in. One in particular being Cole. He leered at Arthur and Alfred from under the brim of his hat and stopped beside the trail boss. The usual instructions were given out and much to Alfred's dismay, he was still on drag.

They set out and Arthur stayed just a bit behind Alfred, giving the cowboy room to maneuver Hero to keep the cattle moving. The taller blond called over his shoulder.

"Ya gotta keep watch on 'em, y'know? Make sure they don't start slowin' or the rest of 'em will think they can start slowin'."

Arthur nodded, knowing the cowboy couldn't see and merely watched him work. The easy way he guided Hero and kept the cattle moving with only the slightest sound or closeness of the horse was oddly fascinating to watch. His emerald eyes traced the tangle of limbs of the herd and Hero's combined as the horse flitted about.

"So if they do start slowin' ya just-" He flicked Hero's reins and the horse skirted to the right side of straying cow. The herd animal immediately picked the pace back up when Hero's thundering hooves stepped close to the cow's limbs. "Do that. Hero does all the work, really." Alfred let the chestnut gelding drop back some and looked back at Arthur. "Ya got that?"

"I saw, yes." The Brit responded and Alfred nodded before moving away to ensure his job. This continued on for the majority of the day with Alfred calling back herding advice and Arthur nodding silently and watching the cowboy work. The sun was slowly starting to slip from the sky, crashing away behind the rocky hills.

_Cole's going to be a problem._The words floated at the back of Arthur's mind. The emerald eyed man rolled his shoulders and attempted to clear his head. Observing the landscape he spotted the dark tell tale forms of buildings. At that moment Alfred dropped back.

"Abilene." Was all he said and pointed a gloved finger towards the dark shapes.

"Excellent." Arthur responded and yawned.

"Hey, what are ya tired for? I'm the one doin' all the work!"

"Simply watching you work is exhausting in and of itself, my brute."

"Better get over that, or you'll drop dead out here."

Arthur scoffed and the cowboy responded with a chuckle and motioned towards the town as the drew closer.

"Once we get these cattle to our shippers we'll be free until the trail boss gives the order to start headin' back. Abilene is a great town so I was wonderin' if ya'd like to go around after sundown?"

"Sounds as if you're trying to court me, Alfred."

The cowboy blinked and furrowed his brows as a blush crept up his cheeks and Arthur snickered.

"I was just meanin' that-"

"I would love nothing more than to spend a night of fun around the town, brute. I think you at least deserve a break and this time I'll be able to ensure you don't get yourself molested by French barmen."

_Ensure you don't have to slaughter another unsuspecting lamb for touching my cowboy._

"Thanks Artie!" The blue-eyed cowboy responded.

"What have I told you about that name?"

"Not to use it?"

"You're obviously not going to obey that order, are you?"

"Sometimes ya gotta go against orders, Mr. Kirkland, sir." Alfred said tilting his hat and moving off to help the other cowboys circle the herd. Arthur allowed Cisco to set her own easy pace as he followed after the herd, watching the cowboys circle and circle, slowly closing around to settle the herd of cattle.

After watching until the sun truly set, Arthur began to grow bored. His curious green eyes had lost track of Alfred as a different set of riders had come from the town and examined the cattle and spoke with the cowboys.

Finally, after Arthur had started to absently tie and untie strands of Cisco's mane in knots from sheer boredom Alfred rode up to them and drew Hero to a stop just before the dapple-grey mare.

"Trail boss said we're free for at least the evenin' so ya ready?"

"I was ready well before lovely Cisco became my boredom therapy." To this Alfred gave the Brit a puzzled expression.

"Let's just go, dear Alfred." The Englishman chuckled and the two walked their horses to where quite a few others of Alfred's drive had left their horses to be guarded by some hired Abilene youth.

Leaving Cisco and Hero behind the two blonds practically strutted into the town, who's saloons and brothels were alive with noise one could hear from the ways.

Alfred pointed out one of the smaller saloons.

"Wanna drink?"

"I most certainly do." Arthur agreed with an airy step and they both walked up on to the porch.

_What will you do about Cole?_ The shadowy voice whispered.

"Hey, Arthur?" Alfred called, peering back at his emerald-eyed companion who had suddenly halted from the door of the saloon. "ya comin' or what?" He inquired with a grin.

"I'll be right there in a moment, Alfred." The Englishman responded with a quick, but false smile and he watched the American vanish behind the saloon door. Arthur stepped from the porch and into the alley to lean against the saloon's alley-ward face.

_Get rid of him, before he tries to hurt my cowboy._

Squeezing his eyes shut, Arthur pushed the voice back and then something else registered. A voice, but not the one that had taunted him since childhood. This was a crude, rough voice set in a low whisper.

Arthur allowed his eyes to flutter open and he peered into the darkness of the alley. The voice was certainly originating from there. He slowly crept farther into the alley until it came to a four way split where the buildings met.

The Brit pressed himself against the building as he spotted some figures down the west way from the ally central meet. He instantly recognized one of the figures. By sight and by voice. Cole.

The blond's hand slid to his trouser pocket where the penknife was safely tucked away. The others around Cole looked vaguely familiar, much like some of Alfred's working crew. Just what were the cowboys doing? Arthur listened in as Cole started to speak again and the emerald eyed man noted the voice he'd heard from the saloon front was most certainly Cole's.

"I'm tellin' ya'll there's somethin' fucked up about that damn foreigner!" Cole whispered to the others harshly.

"And that Yank keeps 'im way too close." One of the other cowboys responded and the rest came to a collective agreement. Cole took control again.

"Just this early morn' I saw 'im acin' all weird and the night time earlier he was talkin' creepy to Al."

_So he had heard,_ Arthur thought with despair.

"So whadda ya say we do about 'em, huh, Cole?" Another cowboy asked.

"We get rid of 'em."

"Trail boss ain't gonna leave Al behind and ya know it!"

"Not what I was meanin'" Cole returned with a confident grin. "I was meanin' we get rid a' 'em two for good."

The other cowboys looked a bit unnerved and Arthur bit his lip.

"We wait until we get back on the trail. When 'em two go off on their own little camp, we grab 'em and cut 'em. Make it look like Natives got 'em." Cole continued to explain his plan but Arthur had stopped listening.

Cole was planning to murder himself and Alfred, and by the looks of it, the other cowboys didn't seem to be on their side.

_I have to warn Alfred._ The Brit thought as panic fluttered in his chest and he stealthily and quickly moved away and out of the alley. He rushed into the saloon and found the American sitting with a half consumed drink in his hand at the bar. He was drawing patterns in the slightly spilt liquor on the counter.

The taller blond perked up and grinned at Arthur as the Brit approached him through the tables and crowd.

"Hey Arthur! I was startin' to wonder-"

"Alfred, we need to speak. Now." The Englishman ordered and snagged his fingers into Alfred's shirt and tugged him off the stool and back away from too many prying eyes and ears. In his panic, Arthur felt his cheeks hot with a slight fever but he continued to pull the cowboy along until no one could see them from the angle formed by the back stairwell walls.

"Arthur what's goin' on?"

"Cole, he's planning something-" Alfred interjected a sigh.

"Cole's always plannin' somethin', Arthur. He's always got some wild idea about how to drive the cattle better or find better railheads y'know?"

"Alfred, this is far more dire than cattle prices. Cole's planning to have you murdered, and myself as well!"

"What? That's just crazy, Arthur!"

"I assure you, brute, it's true. I heard every word myself."

"But why would Cole try to off me? I mean we never been seein' eye to eye but-"

"Because of this." Arthur smirked, eyes glinting and grabbed Alfred's collar to pull the cowboy down to seal his lips against the American's.

**Hooooorahhh! Finally some actual US x Uk even if it's a pitiful closer! xD**

**So, wow, no history notes on my side except that you should notice Arthur's _lack_ of notice to time. The inner talks with Evil!Arthur keeps normal Arthur from being in tune with the real world. Something noted among certain cases of DID where time lapses in memory occur.**

**This chapter was the biggest SOB to write 'cause I had no idea what the hell I was doing with this and i didn't even accomplish what I had planned for the chapter. So that's for later, loves!**

**Looking forward to your thoughts! Veeeee~**


	8. Russian Roulette

**American Trains**

**Chapter 8: Russian Roulette**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: So here we are again. Sorry for not updating last night when this chapter was actually finished. Work kept me until 11:30pm which means I didn't get home until 11:45pm and when I got home I ate some cold pizza and had a tall glass of chocolate milk before feeding my horde of meowing cats and crawling my sorry butt into bed! xD**

**Anywho, sorry for teasing you last chapter. It's too much fun, it really is! I especially love this chapter (and it's got history this time)! There's a lot of dialogue and I hope I managed to keep the conversation easy to follow. Enjoy, my wonderful audience! ;)**

**Note: There's a break/scene shift in here made by this: - Just so you know.**

Alfred's eyes widened in shock and he set his hands on Arthur chest to shove the shorter back. Startled, Arthur was thrown back, head slamming the wall only a few paces behind him. He slid down to the floor with a groan.

The cowboy stepped back, his heel bumping the other wall of the compact stairwell.

"Arthur! I'm sorry! Aww, geez, I'm so sorry!" He babbled out a long string of apologies as the Brit rubbed his fingers against his aching head to check for blood. Thankfully, there was none there and Arthur sighed as he looked up at the still babbling American.

"Alfred." Arthur interjected with a tone of forcefulness. Said man ceased and wrung his gloved hands.

"Huh?"

"What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?" Arthur snarled.

"Ya scared me is all."

"So you make an attempt on my life?" The emerald-eyed blond sneered back, still rubbing the back of his head.

"I forgot how little ya was and my own strength, y'know?"

"I am not little, Alfred! You certainly are not that big, either!" That wasn't true, Alfred was at least six feet tall with biceps and a torso that well matched his rugged occupation and pillared legs that showed what little standing still he ever did. He wasn't a monster, but he certainly wasn't about to lose a fistfight.

"Arthur, I used play wrestle with steers and Hero. Ya little to me." The cowboy said with his head bowed and eyes locked on his wringing fingers. "And why'd ya go and do that anyway? I ain't a woman y'know."

Arthur sighed and remained on the ground, shoulders back.

"I'm very much aware of that, Alfred."

"So why'd ya go and kiss me?"

"Panic."

"Huh?"

"I panicked, I don't know." Said the Englishman in defeat and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Ya lyin' to me, Mr. Kirkland."

"What else would you like me to say, then, you git?"

"I don't know." Alfred resigned and lapsed into silence, both avoiding looking at the other. It dragged on and as usual, it made Alfred very uncomfortable while having the opposite effect on the shorter. The silence gave him a chance to think and collect his thoughts, but checking his cowboy made it painfully obvious that Alfred was very uncomfortable. He was fidgeting with the cuffs of his shirt and biting his bottom lip until it was painfully red from the pressure.

"I find you…. Attractive." Arthur finally mumbled as a blush crept high on his cheeks.

"Me?" The American looked up, eyes brimming with confusion.

"No, not you! I meant that delicious piece of work filling drinks at the bar." The Brit practically spit sarcasm like venom as he jerked his thumb back towards the room filled with people. "Of course I mean you, Alfred." He let his tone slip to sincerity as he tried to meet the taller's eyes.

Alfred kept his head down though, and sighed.

"Oh, uh, thanks, I guess." He mumbled out. "But there ain't nothin' special 'bout me. If ya lookin' for looks, there's a lot better out there than me." The cowboy shrugged, trying to absorb it all in. So Arthur was apparently queer, but it didn't bother Alfred much. The cowboy had resigned to letting people live as they wanted, as long as they didn't bother him about it. Now, however, it was affecting him. Apparently he was the object of Arthur's affections.

The shorter blond barked a bit of laughter.

"If I was looking for what you think I am, I'd never have come to this blasted desert hell hole!" Arthur shook his head and combed a hand through his messy hair. "Alfred, look at me a moment, would you?"

Obediently, the American did so. Arthur smiled gently at him.

"Is this going to make you uncomfortable?" Alfred shrugged.

"I dun know." He mumbled in return.

"Do you find me attractive?"

"Never really thought 'bout it."

"Then think now, as painful as it might be for you." The Brit snickered and Al felt a tiny smile quirk his lips up. Even if it was directed at him, he did enjoy the Brit's sharp tongue.

"I mean, I guess ya alright. I dun know." The cowboy lowered the brim of his hat, cheeks high with flush. "I'm really not good at this sorta' thing, Mr. Kirkland."

"I can tell." Arthur responded and brought his legs to his chest, chin rested on his knee. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' would suffice." Alfred swallowed hard, his chest tight and stomach knotting. He mentally swore for his body betraying him like this.

"Y-yes." Alfred barely choked out in a whisper. The Brit gasped, it hadn't been the answer he was expecting.

"Really?"

"Well I dun want to be callin' ya ugly."

"Alfred." Arthur fixed the cowboy a stern look "I don't appreciate being toyed with."

"I ain't!" The blue-eyed blond defended. "I told ya, I just ain't good at this."

"You can deal with those obnoxious brutes, control a one thousand pound muscle bound horse and drive a herd of cattle well into the hundreds with that cheeky grin on your face all the while, but you can't answer a simple 'yes' or 'no' question honestly?"

"Well, when ya put it that way." The cowboy leaned back heavily against the wall.

"You're hopeless." Arthur resigned and let his chin touch to his chest, allowing the silence lap between them like an ocean.

Alfred unhitched himself from the wall and crossed that ocean to stand in front of Arthur. When the Brit didn't bother to look up, the American knelt before him. The cowboy could see the far away look in the Brit's eyes and he leaned forward to place a soft kiss at the corner of Arthur's mouth.

Arthur started and looked at Alfred with comically wide eyes.

"Did you just-?" He touched his fingertips to where the feeling of Alfred's lips lingered faintly.

"I think ya a real nice fella, Mr. Kirkland. Let's start there. Whadda ya say?"

"I'd say I'd like that, git." Arthur responded with a smirk and daringly placed his hands on Alfred's strong upper arms. The cowboy didn't hesitate to pull Arthur into a crushing hug and Arthur nearly choked. The amusingly exasperated noises the shorter sputtered out made Alfred giggle, but he released the Brit with a grin.

"Can we go drink now?" The cowboy asked with his signature grin.

"Go ahead. I think I need some air before I drink, after you so forcefully squeezed it out of me." Arthur absently rubbed where Alfred's biceps had been crushed against his clavicles. The American clapped the Brit's shoulder and stood.

"Alright. Don't take too long though, ya hear?"

"Yes, yes, now shoo." The Brit flicked his hands in said motion. Alfred moved to obey with a chuckle.

Arthur watched the American head back to the bar and he exhaled sharply. _That_ _could__have__gone__better,__but__then__again_, _it__could__have__gone__quite__a__bit__worse._

Arthur smiled as he once again brushed his fingers to where Alfred had kissed him.

_You're__going__to__lose__him__if__you__don't__deal__with__Cole._The malicious voice reminded him, and Arthur sneered as he rose to his feet.

He swept his fingers through his hair and gathered his thoughts. A bit of fresh air really would do him good, and the Englishman walked out of the saloon.

Inhaling the gently wafting night air as he took the time to survey what he could of the town, Arthur noticed a group entering a brothel. The group was painfully familiar, and the Brit's stomach clenched with tension.

Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur moved to intercept the last man of the group: Cole.

*~.:AT:.~*

Alfred sat back down at the seat he'd chosen earlier; noting that while the seat beside him had been empty prior, it was now occupied by a rather tall man. The cowboy wasn't bothered and returned to sipping his drink, merely listening to the comforting drone of noise behind him while he awaited Arthur's return.

"You look familiar, American." The tall man said in a heavily accented voice.

Alfred glanced at the man and took another sip of his drink.

"Ya don't." The man rumbled a chuckle.

"Pardon my manners, they are not all that good." The man said as he turned in his seat at an angle, crossing one heavy limb over his other knee. "Let me introduce myself. I am Ivan." The man put his massive hand out to shake.

Alfred smiled and shook the man's hand with a good amount of vigor.

"Well howdy Ivan, m' name's Alfred. So how'd ya think I was familiar?"

"A witness I recently spoke to looked quite a bit like yourself. I see now though that I am mistaken. The man I spoke to was not nearly as broad nor as bold as yourself."

"Witness?" Alfred furrowed his brows.

"Yes, I've been tracking a murderer for…. a very long time. I thought I'd lost his trail, until I heard of the murder of a barman in a town not too far from here. It was clearly the murderer's work. You haven't heard anything of this have you, Alfred?"

"Nah, I haven't heard much. I don't stick around in one place long enough to catch up on the news. Last interestin' news I heard is we bought some big ol' piece a' land up North.

"Alaska?"

"Yeah!" Alfred grinned. "Like I said, I don't keep up with news or nothin' interestin' like murderers."

"It was a pointless piece of land, and that was over two years ago. Tell me Alfred, just what keeps you from keeping up with the world?"

"Well, I drive cattle, and sendin' and recievin' telegraphs is expense and ya rarely find towns with 'em set."

"I see."

"Y'know, ya talk funny too. Where ya from?" The tall man chuckled, his violet eyes squinting a bit.

"I am from the Russian Empire, the very same from which your government purchased our Alaska."

"Oh, that's a helluva' ways away, ain't it?" Alfred responded with wide eyes.

"Very."

"So why'd ya come all the way out here?"

"To track the murderer I told you of earlier."

"Really? Seems like an awful lot of work. I mean, who'd he off that made ya follow 'im all the way out here?"

"People dear to me, and many other innocents who's loved ones have hired me to return him and see that he is capitally punished."

"Ya must be some kinda' hero to those folks, comin' all the way here to try and find the bastard." Alfred said somberly.

"I am no hero, Alfred, I only do what is asked of me."

"Still." Alfred slammed back the rest of his drink. He looked back to the stairwell, and then around the room and when he failed to spot Arthur, he frowned.

"Looking for someone?" Ivan inquired, noting the American's observance.

"Yeah, friend a' mine. Said he wanted to get some air, but it's been awhile."

"Best go in search of him. I've found this country to be filled with cruel and evil men."

Alfred laughed and rose.

"Ya just been in the west too long I'll bet. I'm from the East, ya should visit there sometime."

"I have been east, where are you from?"

"Pennsylvania; little town next to the Allegheny River. I'll be right back, Ivan."

The man nodded, his pale white hair bobbing. Alfred left a bit of money for the drink and headed outside.

He looked around, not seeing the Brit, and wondered where the shorter blond could have wandered off too. The blue-eyed cowboy crossed the way and walked around the porches of a few buildings, calling Arthur's name.

As worry began to unsettle his stomach, he spotted some of his working crew exiting one of Abilene's less favorable brothels. He jogged up to them.

"Hey, y'all seen Arthur?"

"Nah, ya seen Cole?" One of them, Jem, answered, though he avoided Alfred's eyes.

"Nah. Why? He gone missin' too?"

"Seems like it." Another answered. "Your foreigner better not have somethin' to do with it." The man warned low and Alfred glared at him.

"Don't go tryin' to pick a fight ya know ya ain't gonna win." Alfred growled out.

The man spit.

"That a challenge, Yank?"

"Only if ya stupid enough to try."

Jem stepped between them and shoved Alfred back, though the heavier cowboy didn't move far.

"Knock it off, Al. Let's just find Cole and your boy and get back to havin' fun."

"Fine." Alfred said and adjusted the brim of his hat.

They split up, the other drivers offering to check inside each building while Alfred would search around the perimeter of each.

It only took searching behind the brothel to find Arthur standing with his back to Alfred at the very rear of the building.

"Arthur!" Alfred called with elation. He stopped dead when Arthur looked back at him, the strange, frightening glint of murder in his eyes and blood splattered across his face and chest.

"Arthur, ya okay?" Alfred called as he froze in place. Was the Brit hurt? That was a terrible amount of blood.

"Just fine, my dear Alfred. I was only taking care of business." He returned slyly and stepped to the side, revealing the body of a man lying stiff on the ground as he swiped the penknife blade clean with his tongue in a sickening display.

"God…. Arthur, what have ya done?" The cowboy whispered in horror as he recognized the corpse of Cole.

**Did someone order a corpse via Evil!Arthur? :3**

**Also, if there is any doubt left, yes, that _is_ Russia the bounty hunter. Bwuahahaha.**

**Lalalalala, history time:**

**America agreed to purchase Alaska from Russia (called the Russian Empire, then) in 1867, the official check was signed in 1868 however (why Ivan says it was two years ago, instead of three). It was purchased for just over $7 million at about 2 cents per acre. Russia sold the land because they could find no profit from it and very few Russians actually lived there (with the exception of Kodiak island). Also the Tsar at the time, Alexander II, thought the land was more of drain if he was going to have to protect it as well from encroachment from what is now Canada. Russia offered the land for purchase to America and the US snapped up the bargain deal. The state produced massive amounts of gold, timber and fresh water along with its fishing industry that made the investment well worth it and sealed the North American continent.**

**The name Alaska was actually sometimes used in Russia for the land and the name stuck. It was derived from the Russian word for 'the main land.' Ironic, huh?**

**Another similar name used by natives actually means 'the great land.'**

**Telegraphs in the west in 1870 were not as common as they were in the East. Most telegraphs were used to conduct train operations and those the rail companies had a monopoly on the telegraph stations(which were almost always set at rail heads).**


	9. Enemy Too Near

**American Trains**

**Chapter 9: Enemy Too Near**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**Quicky update just like last time. Sorry these last two have been a bit short. They were supposed to be incorporated into chapter 7, but I decided to extend some scenes after I spotted potentintial cliffhangers I could stop off on and extend a few more scenes. Enjoy Alfred's dilema and a little Ivan thrown in for all my Russia lovers.**

**To the Russia fans: You'll get your fair share of him, don't you fret preciouses(sp?). ;P**

**ykwyh26: Thanks, I appreciate the notice of the chapter title. I found it...interesting. hahaha.**

**Also, With-All-Hearts... Evil!Arthur offers his sincerest apologies and would gladly give you fries with some "_ketchup_", hot and fresh from his latest victim-err, I mean... ;)**

**Enjoy folks:**

"Arthur…" Alfred finally stepped forward, coming to stand beside the Brit, who grinned.

"Admiring my handiwork?" He inquired with a snicker.

"Why?" Alfred looked to the grinning murderer, horror shining clearly in his eyes.

"Why not? He deserved it." The emerald-eyed man responded, capping the penknife and returning it to his pocket. He cocked a thick brow, as Alfred continued to give him that horrified and confused look. "He was plotting to have us both murdered. I merely killed him before he could hurt you." Arthur stretched a bloodied hand to brush Alfred's cheek. "I'm only protecting you."

Alfred's lip turned up in disgust and he backed away. He swiped at the smeared blood on his cheek with his sleeve, but he felt as if the stain of Cole's blood had left a permanent blemish on his skin. The sickly tacky blood seemed to permanently smear, unwilling to be forgotten on the cowboy's sleeve.

"Protectin' me? I can fuckin' handle myself!" The cowboy bellowed. "I don't need ya slaughterin' innocent people to 'protect me!'"

"Shut up or you'll let everyone in this blasted town know we're here." Arthur responded apathetically and nudged Cole's flank with the toe of his shoe. "Wouldn't want your brutish friends to find him so soon, would we?"

"We? I ain't got no part in this. I was done killin' innocent folks when the war ended." Alfred growled back, eyes narrowed.

"There is never an end, Alfred. You should know that." Arthur countered, stepping over Cole's body to approach the American. Alfred grit his teeth as the shorter blond finally stopped just in front of him. The American balled his gloved hands into fists.

"Alfred?" Arthur continued to smile dangerously and the infuriated cowboy drew his arm back to throw a punch at Arthur's jaw. The shorter went to the ground with a pained gasp and a heavy thud.

The cowboy planted his knee in the Englishman's gut as he pinned him: one hand securing Arthur's arms above his head and the other pressed to his throat. The emerald-eyed man continued to smile up at the cowboy, flashing canines stained with his own blood from Alfred's punch.

"How could ya?" Alfred mumbled, "After…after what I told ya?"

"How could I not? Cole _deserved_to die for _wanting_you to die."

"Lot a' folks have wanted me dead, Arthur."

"Then I'll kill them too."

"How can ya say it like that?" Alfred snarled, "So…"

"Cold? Apathetic? Because I don't care. He was a low life that wanted to hurt you and take you from me. What's another dead one? They're like flies. You can kill one, but there will always be thousands more, just begging to be slaughtered." The Brit chuckled darkly and wormed his hands free to pull Alfred down into a possessive kiss.

Alfred pressed hard on Arthur's throat and wrenched away with a disgusted groan. The taste of blood was potent on his lips now and the smell of blood wafting from Arthur was revolting.

"There's somethin' wrong with ya. Ya sick in the head. Ya talkin' like I'm just a patch a' land ya can own."

"Tried to tell you…" Suddenly, Arthur's choked voice had slipped from cruel to sad in that split instant.

Alfred let his grip go lax, and the Englishman inhaled heavily. Alfred moved his knee to straddled the Brit, rather than crush him into the ground. The emerald-eyed man may now sound remorseful, but Alfred wasn't letting him go without a real explanation.

"Told you I was different, didn't I?"

Alfred had no response for the question. When Arthur had told him that, he'd never thought of it like this. The cowboy wiped his mouth free of the still sticky blood on his lips and swallowed hard. He sighed in defeat.

"I should turn ya in to Abilene's lawman."

"It would be the right thing to do, my brute."

"But I ain't gonna." Arthur gave him a questioning look, eyes half lidded.

"And why's that?"

"'Cause," said the American with his stomach knotting painfully in guilt. "'Cause I'm a selfish bastard." Alfred moved to stand up.

The Brit watched the cowboy looming over him. As he shifted to get up himself, Alfred moved back to give him space. The American blinked a few times, fighting mixed emotions.

"All I wanted was friend for God knows how long. I ain't losin' ya." He said and looked at Cole's body. The dead man's eyes were still open in the sudden shock of death that had been Arthur's knife slicing clean through his throat. Those glassed eyes stared accusingly at the cowboy and he felt himself shiver, as he tore his gaze away and back to Arthur.

"Maybe I shoulda been more specific when I was askin' God for a friend all 'em nights…" He muttered and felt Arthur's slim fingers curl around his own gloved ones. He didn't look at the shorter, he didn't want to. The Brit squeezed his hand.

"I'm not some God-send, Alfred. I never claimed to be." Arthur murmured wistfully, leaning his forehead against Alfred's upper arm. "I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't know how to control myself."

_You knew very well what you were doing. You enjoyed every second of it._

Alfred took the moment to look down at the smaller blond, now able to avoid any dreaded eye contact.

The Brit's jacket was stained nearly black with blood. The white shirt beneath was a startling scarlet and clung damply to his chest.

"We gotta get ya cleaned up." Alfred muttered.

"No. We need to leave this town completely."

"The trail boss won't wanna stay here long."

"You twit! We need to leave _now_. Get the bloody hell out of here!" Arthur ordered: voice muffled faintly by Alfred's sleeve.

"Don't go orderin' me around when ya made this mess!" The cowboy snarled in return and forcefully removed the Brit from his arm with a sharp yank.

"You know I'm right though." Arthur said as he settled, allowing the confused cowboy his wish. Alfred clenched his fist in distaste but nodded.

Alfred didn't want to go, didn't want to leave his life again … or perhaps he really did?

He'd left the East, unable to see his war-torn home from such a close perspective. The soldier in him had screamed at his body to stay, to ensure the protection of home, but the broken, dead soul in him wanted nothing but to forget the East. Now the cowboy in him wanted to hunker into the desert sand and ride to his death in old age, but the newly revived soul wanted to follow Arthur wherever the mad man wanted to drag him. The never dead soldier locked away still yearned for home and for Arthur to follow him, rather than be led.

The confliction made it feel like the alley around them was spinning violently, He barely kept his balance as he moved forward.

The two walked to the edge of the alley and waited until the walkway was mostly clear of anyone sober enough to think suspiciously of Arthur and his American counterpart. Arthur took the time to try and wipe the blood off his face.

The cowboy moved ahead of the Brit, forcing himself steady and set himself at strong pace while Arthur kept as close as possible, keeping his arms crossed before his chest to shield the sight of blood as much as possible. Alfred's long, determined strides made it hard to keep up, along with his own racing thoughts. The familiar clench of panic seized his chest.

The few people walking the way who did look at them were instantly met with Alfred's intense blue gaze, leering at them. Most instantly turned away. One gaze, however, never met Alfred's to begin with, but merely watched from the darkest shadows cast by the night and angle of the Abilene lights: a cunning violet gaze.

At the edge of the town, Arthur moved away from the blue-eyed cowboy. Alfred looked back at him in question.

"Get the horses, I might startle them. I'll wait for you out of sight." Arthur said, glancing down at his bloody self for emphasis and moved away; away from the glow of the lights of the town to slip out of Abilene's jurisdiction. The cowboy took note of Arthur direction and made his way to the sleepy youth who was hired to guard the drive's horses.

He took Hero and Cisco's bit and bridle mounts in his hand to lead them from the rest of the drive's horses. As he led them just out of earshot of the guard, he heard the pat of heavy boots against the dry, cracked ground of the way behind him. He glanced back and spotted an ominous figure. From the darkness, all he could make out distinctively was the pale white hair and glimmer of violet eyes.

"Alfred." The figure called and stepped closer. The mentioned man felt the horses start to shy as the figure approached and it suddenly set him on edge. He didn't know Cisco well, but Hero wasn't the easiest horse to upset.

"Hey Ivan." Came the American's guarded response. Why was he acting like this? Ivan hadn't done anything wrong. He'd even been polite at the bar made conversation with him. _Might_ _be__that__I__just__walked__away__from__a murder…._He thought darkly.

"I was starting to worry after you did not return." The Russian responded, a childish smile on his lips.

"Oh, well don't. I'm fine." The cowboy responded a bit too quickly and the Russian smiled wider.

"You seem edgy, American. Is there something wrong?"

"No." Alfred retorted.

"You're a poor liar."

"I ain't lyin.'" Alfred bit at his lip nervously and tugged Cisco and Hero along. "Listen, Ivan, I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."

"Before you go," The Russian started, following after Alfred. "Did you find your friend?"

"Uh, y-yeah, I did."

"Where is he?"

"Uh, he left." It technically wasn't lying. Arthur really had left and was probably well away from Abilene's town perimeter by now.

"Oh, did he? That's a shame. I was hoping to meet him." Ivan said with a shrug.

"Ya were?" The horses tugged at Alfred's hands as he stopped for a moment, curious of the Russian's intentions, but still defensive.

"Indeed. I was hoping maybe he'd know something of the murders."

Alfred's stomach felt like it was lodged in his throat. The mention of murder throwing what little confidence in secrecy he'd built up to the wind.

"Oh, well I doubt it. He don't keep up with the news much either."

"He shares your occupation?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm just teachin' 'im the ropes and all, y'know?"

Ivan nodded solemnly and Alfred took the silence as a chance to escape the violet-eyed man's probing questions. He tugged the horses again, who were more than eager to leave the Russian's presence

"You are leaving, and without the rest of your friends?" The cowboy quickly searched for an excuse to lie and escape Ivan. His eyes alighted on the hanging canteen on Hero's saddle packs.

"Yeah, I'm just takin' 'em down to get 'em watered and the canteens filled."

"There is water in the town." Ivan responded, cocking his head slightly.

"River water's cleaner, Abilene ain't known for bein' the cleanest town." The American was finding the half-truths were coming easier and easier. He wasn't sure it was a good thing or a bad one.

"That has some truth to it, I suppose. Be careful, Alfred. You never know just what lurks out there. I wouldn't want you to fall prey to the murderer if he's been reported so near."

Alfred chuckled nervously and nodded. Over his shoulder, he called back.

"Much obliged, Ivan, but ya don't have to worry about me. I can handle 'im if he tries me, or anybody for that matter."

"Yes," Ivan nodded, as a dark look passed over his face. "I'm sure you could handle him."

Alfred suppressed a shudder and started walking the horses to where he'd watched Arthur head, glancing over his shoulder once more. He sighed. The Russian was no longer there and the cowboy felt a sense of relief comfort his knotted stomach.

The blue-eyed cowboy led the two horses along with his eyes downcast, as Russian's few final lines sunk in. Arthur had turned on Cole so suddenly, and bluntly disclosed how he'd done so without remorse. What was to stop Arthur from doing so again? Maybe to him next time?

He clenched the bit and bridle mount tightly as the image of Arthur grinning, blood-splattered face leaning over him, the penknife dragging across his throat flashed in his mind. He adjusted his glasses quickly and clenched Hero's bit mount again.

No, Arthur wouldn't do that. Not to him, at least. Hadn't he said he'd only killed Cole to protect the cowboy? Alfred wondered if he'd be regretting this choice all too soon.

Nostalgically, he glanced back at Abilene, where the rest of his drive was strewn through various buildings. Some were probably still searching for Cole while others were drinking away their problems and still other laying their problems in bed. Would he really miss them?

No. He'd miss the herding, and the hard day's work and the satisfaction of finishing a job, being paid and drinking it away in the simplistic, satisfying life. The hateful stares, jibes and loneliness weren't worth all the drinking money in the world, though. He had Arthur now, and he wasn't going to let that one small miracle go: even if that miracle came in the form of a strangely murderous emerald-eyed Brit.

"What took you so long, git?"

Alfred looked up to meet the man currently filling his mind. Lost in thought, he hadn't noticed how far from the town he'd walked.

"Uh, someone stopped me just wantin' to chat."

Arthur arched a heavy brow skeptically.

"It was just some fella I met at that saloon we was at."

"I see." The Brit moved to take Cisco from Alfred and petted the animal's velvety nose. He looked then to Alfred, who was absently patting Hero's neck with his eyes unfocused.

"Alfred."

"Huh?" The cowboy looked up, that look still in his eyes.

"You don't have to do this." The cowboy shook his head.

"Ya only half right, Artie." The Brit scowled at the name but waited for Alfred to further explain. The cowboy was silent a moment longer as his eyes brightened.

"I decided it's about time to be movin' on. I like bein' a cowboy, but I like havin' ya around more. I don't have to do nothin', but I think all along I've been wantin' a way outta this. Ya gave me a damned good excuse to do it." Alfred said with resolve andsmiled. _Even_ _if__it__took__Cole's__death__to__prove__it__to__myself._

Arthur smirked and swung himself up on Cisco, who shied a bit, uncomfortable with Arthur's gore-scent.

"Glad I could help." He responded, taking control of the dapple-grey mare. "Even if my method was… unconventional, to say the least."

The cowboy mirrored his friend and swung up into Hero's saddle.

"Hey, sorry about punchin' ya earlier, too."

Arthur paused to tap his bruising jaw.

"I suppose it makes us even now, doesn't it?" He smirked mischievously as he watched the American mirror him to touch the splotched mark apparent on his face. "I deserved it as well. After you tried to split my skull open, I should have learned not to startle you. You tend to become physical."

"Ah, yeah. I do, don't I?" He replied lamely with a thin laugh.

"So, where to now, cowboy?" The shorter inquired.

"The river. We gotta at least get the blood scent off a' ya, or ya be drawin' some mean animals and unwanted attention." He said and pointed to where he knew the nearby river to be, though it was obscured by the rise of the bordering hills. He'd been there enough times to recall that much. Arthur nodded and motioned for Alfred to lead.

Clapping Hero's flanks lightly, the horse started off. Arthur and Cisco followed close behind as they set out for the river.

**I have to admit, I stole that line that Evil!Arthur used about people like Cole being flies from the kids show iCarly. I was watching it the other day (yeah, I watch kids shows, lol) and Spencer said some line about flies liking to die and I just thought it sounded like something Evil!Arthur might say...ya know, 'cause people like to die and all in his world. :P**

**Am I bad person for turning a mildly comedic line from a childrens show into a rather disturbing one straight from the lips of my fan based version of a mentally ill personified nation? :3**

**This chapter lacks history. I'm slightly disappointed that my author's note isn't mirroring the length of the fic in my research! *looks over at the pile of research index cards* 'Cause it's there. Just not here. Awww well.**

**Also, I am attempting to keep the mary-sue romance out of this. I'm trying to avoid making Arthur our Edward-sue, with the 'I'm a monster, stay away' and trying to keep Alfred from bella-suing it up with falling all over Arthur. Is it working? I want to give you all your due USUK, but...ya get what I'm sayin' right?**

**No offense to people who like Twilight, but everyone knows the characters were very stock, right? The romance as well.**

**Reviews and thoughts are much appreciated!**


	10. On a Razor's Edge

**American Trains**

**Chapter 10: On A Razor's Edge**

**Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)**

**A/N: So... sorry for no update on schedule. I blame FF; it just wouldn't let me upload. I kept getting time-out errors. =/**

**So before I start an angry rant, I'll jump to reviews:**

**Distant Lands: Yeah, I think that might have been the episode. I'd have to go dig around the Internet though.**

**Ykwyh26: I think I'm getting better at remembering the order of the letters of your username. XD I still sometimes scratch my head when trying to type your name out. Lol**

**Yes, I suppose my warped inspiration must come from somewhere and I managed to finally fix that little opps in ch. 9**

**Crownedclown3293: I wouldn't have my cowboy leave his spunky Brit! :D Or would I? :3**

**BeastieoftheShadows12: I'm to introduce you to your first case of DID prone gentlemen. ;) And yes, aren't I an awful person with my cliffhangers?**

**Rae1112: It's much more delicious than friendship! :3**

**Fai'swingedchronicles: Yes, when I kill characters, I ensure they stay dead. I'm glad you clicked it too, and that you're enjoying it. ;) *grins* Another Ivan lover, huh?**

**Okay, I got one real important question for ya'll:**

**Pirates or secret agents?**

**Pretty please leave your answer in a review or PM! Be honest. :)**

**Enjoy the big double digit!**

As Arthur and Cisco struggled up the rugged hill overlooking the river, hooves slipping dangerously, Alfred and Hero seemed indifferent to the increasingly worsening terrain. The sure-footed chestnut stepped easily with an instinct to find the best footing.

Arthur clung to Cisco as the mare slipped and whinnied after catching her footing again.

"Alfred, is this safe?" The Brit questioned skeptically as his mount sidestepped, blindly seeking steady ground. The mentioned man glanced over his shoulder and chuckled.

"Ah, poor gal ain't got her climbin' legs, huh?" The cowboy offered a shrug. "Ya can walk 'er if ya don't wanna take a tumble."

"Yes, I think that's wisest." He mumbled and dismounted Cisco, soothing the nervous mare with a few strokes down her neck. He carefully led Cisco after Hero and Alfred as they flitted about the rocks, stones tumbling down the ridge.

The cowboy and his horse made it to the top of the ridge and waited for their companions. Again, in silence, Alfred felt his thoughts creep up on him uncomfortably. Alfred tried to smile and patted Hero's neck while watching Arthur and Cisco comically struggle up the rather steep hill.

"C'mon Artie! I ain't got all night!" The cowboy teased, trying to lighten his own mood when Arthur and Cisco were just about to the ridge peak.

"Do shut up, dear brute." The Brit grumbled as they came to level with the cowboy. He was panting from climbing the rough ground and dangerously guiding the mare; it certainly wasn't easy work. He leaned against Hero, fingers knotted in Alfred's denims for added support as he caught his breath.

"Don't worry. Horses are real good learners. She'll get the hang a' climbin' in no time."

Arthur nodded and finally took a moment to look down the ridge they stood upon. Following the rough path down, it ended in a quiet river; barely a whispering gurgle rose from the waters. Even in the dark, Arthur could see that the river was fairly wide, but the current soothingly slow as it shimmered under the moonlight.

"If we plan on catchin' any sleep tonight, we ought to get goin.'" He said. Arthur slipped his hand from the American's leg.

"I suppose you're right." The Englishman muttered.

"Ya should be alright goin' down. Ain't nowhere near as bad as the trip up."

Arthur brightened a bit at that and swung himself up onto Cisco's saddle.

"Just follow where Hero walks, alright?" Alfred kicked the horse's flanks and the gelding started down. Arthur nudged the mare to follow after the cowboy.

The trip down only involved a few slips where deceivingly steady rocks proved loose and Hero skidded some but stayed steady under Alfred. Arthur was more than grateful for the cowboy's experience where his lacked. If he'd been leading, the Brit was positive Cisco and he would be lying dead at the bottom of the hill, each with broken necks.

Once Hero stepped down to level ground with an airy bounce, the cowboy sighed in relief. He turned in the saddle to make sure Arthur made it down safely. He watched the mare step down beside Hero, giving a snort.

The Brit leered back at the hill behind them, silently cursing the blasted terrain.

The blue-eyed cowboy dismounted and led the chestnut to the river before he removed the bit from the animal's mouth. Giving it a brief wash in the river, he walked back to his horse. Grabbing a spare cloth from the saddle pack, Alfred wrapped the bit and set it back into the pack, stuffing the leather in as well.

Arthur watched, then mirrored the cowboy, though without a cloth or much of a saddle pack, he merely set the spare bit with Hero's and the two let the horses drink from the river.

Alfred flopped down to the softer dirt at the river's edge and inhaled the cool air of the night. Arthur sat down, albeit more gracefully, and watched the river. He'd noticed that the normally curious cowboy had been oddly silent through most of their trip. He wasn't sure how long they'd traveled but the moon was high above them now, the three-quarters shinning down on them with silvery beams.

"Ya gonna wash, or ya just gonna stare at it?" The cowboy teased and Arthur snorted.

"You just want to watch me strip, don't you?" The Brit retorted with a devilish smirk.

Alfred blushed furiously and quickly looked down at the ground in front of him. Arthur laughed raucously and got to his feet to stand in front of the embarrassed American. A mischievous idea was forming in the Brit's mind. He offered his hand to help Alfred stand. The cowboy gave him a questioning look.

Arthur felt his own cheeks begin to heat, suddenly reconsidering the spontaneous idea.

"Care to join me?" He mumbled with a quirky smile. Alfred's eyes grew wide and his blush intensified, straight to his neck and ears.

"Uh, that's ok. I-" Arthur interjected a sigh, summoned up his courage and grabbed the American's wrists, bodily dragging him to his feet. The cowboy kept his eyes averted, lips pursed in a thin line. The Brit narrowed his eyes; clearly this wasn't going as smoothly as he'd hoped.

Arthur tugged the taller towards the river and the cowboy nervously dug his heels in, halting them both.

"A-A-Arthur, I'm not so sure 'bout this." The cowboy stuttered and pulled his wrists free of the shorter's grasp. He nervously wrung his gloved hands. The Brit seemingly ignored him and kicked off his shoes and stepped into the river's shallow banks, beckoning the cowboy with an easy smile and gesture.

Alfred shook his head and the emerald-eyed man cocked his head.

"Why?" _How'd __that __one __little __word __become __so __damned __complicated __so __fast? _Thought Alfred in dread at the Brit's question.

"How many times I got to tell ya? I ain't good at this."

"With bathing, or with people?" The Brit retorted, a bored expression hiding his inner curiosity. The cowboy growled.

"With ya." He glared down at the ground between his boots.

"Pardon?" The Brit stepped out of ankle-deep water beside the shore and up to the American.

"People ain't my problem. You are." Arthur gathered his patience and nudged his foot against Alfred's boot. The cowboy huffed as the Brit continued his silent prodding. "I just don't know what ya want me to do."

"Relax, for starters." Arthur retorted and flicked the American's chest. "I'm surprised you haven't snapped you're so bloody tense."

Alfred exhaled sharply and tried the instructions.

"I don't understand you, Alfred. How can one go from chipper while navigating break-neck terrain to taut as a bowstring at the mention of a relaxing chance to bathe?" The Englishman continued.

"I think ya got bigger issues, Mr. Kirkland."

"Is that really what this is about?" Arthur mumbled with a sigh, sadness immersed in his voice. "You think I'll turn on you, don't you?"

"Nah, Arthur I-"

"You're just waiting for me to slit your throat, aren't you?" The Brit continued, fishing for the penknife in his pocket. His normally curious green eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Arthur, I never s-" Alfred tried to explain but was cut off by the flash of metal under the moonlight. The Brit approached him with a low growl.

"You're a liar, Alfred Jones. You doubt me." He snarled out, twirling the knife as he slipped it just beneath Alfred's chin. The cowboy reserved himself, unflinching but Ivan's words came back to haunt his mind, not only about his inability to lie, but the Russian's warning. He wouldn't give Arthur the satisfaction of proving him right, though.

"The night you found me, I cut those ropes with this blade. I could have easily slit you open just like them. I didn't though, did I?" Arthur whispered harshly, and jabbed the blade tip to lightly puncture the skin on the underside of Alfred's chin when the cowboy didn't respond.

"Answer me!" The Brit roared, digging the blade in a bit harder, drawing scarlet life from the thin cut.

"No." Alfred muttered, giving in to the madman's question.

"I could have let Cole go. I could have let his plan succeed and watched him murder you, but I didn't. Isn't that right?" Arthur licked his lips in satisfaction, trailing the blade to lay the razor side against Alfred's unblemished cheek.

"You murdered him, Arthur. There-" The blade began to cut a faint line.

"That wasn't what I asked you." Arthur gave his vocal reminder. He looped his arm around the cowboy's waist and leaned against Alfred's chest. The Brit flashed an insane grin and pushed the blade harder against Alfred's lightly bronzed skin, marring it with a small trail of blood. "Now answer me."

"Yes." Alfred returned in defeat, looking down into Arthur's wild eyes. The cuts barely stung, but the violent change in the shorter felt like a terrible wound to his heart. It had hurt to know Arthur was a willing killer, but knowing he'd committed it for him was a crippling hit. The realization had suddenly caught up with him, and shattering the denial was the final straw.

"I'm protecting y-" The cowboy grit his teeth and lunged, throwing Arthur to the ground. The Brit struck the earthen soil and grunted in pain. His still wild eyes leered up at Alfred.

"I think ya ought to keep the Hell away from me, Mr. Kirkland." The blue-eyed cowboy said and stepped back. "Abilene ain't that far. I'll take ya straight to the lawman. I'm still feelin' sick from seeing Cole like that."

Still on the ground, Arthur laughed manically.

"You know exactly what they'd do to a man like me. They'll hang me with a vice."

"I don't see what's so damned funny about it."

"Of course you don't. It's irony, really." Arthur giggled and propped himself up on his elbows. "You claim you're sick from seeing a dead foe? What of a friend, th-"

"Cole wasn't an enemy!" Alfred shouted.

"He became one the moment he thought of taking you from me!" Arthur snarled back. "How can you still try to pity and guilt yourself over him? He wanted you to die!"

"The same way I forgive ya. I don't know what made ya this way, but I still pity ya."

"I don't want your bloody fucking pity!" The Brit howled out his frustration and fell flat back to the ground. Alfred watched him as Arthur shuddered and threw the penknife somewhere along the shore in a sideward motion. It clattered in the darkness.

He rubbed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "I don't want your pity." He mumbled again. A sane sense of regret filling out those simple words of detest.

"Shame, 'cause ya got it." The American spurred in spite.

"Shut the hell up!" Arthur growled back weakly. "Go away, you damned brute! Leave me alone! Isn't that what you wanted anyway? 'I think ya ought to keep the Hell away from me, Mr. Kirkland.'" The emerald-eyed blond mocked bitterly. The cowboy sighed. He couldn't deny he'd said it, but walking away and leaving the miserable blond on the ground alone? The thought made his heart hurt.

"Yeah, I said it, don't mean I want to though." Alfred mumbled. How could he never stay angry with Arthur? After the awful things he'd done and said, how did he find forgiveness for the strange Brit?

The American removed his hat and bandana, leaving them on the ground as he kicked off his boots as well. He moved to stand beside Arthur, who still covered his eyes, as a strange plot of his own formed haphazardly in his mind.

"Arthur."

"Didn't I just tell you to go away?" Arthur's breath hitched and he moved his hands away to find Alfred kneeling close beside him, the cowboy's heavy hand on his chest.

"I'll take my leave if ya really want me to, Arthur." He curled his fingers in the blood-soaked shirt and tugged, motioning for Arthur to stand. "But I'd rather fix this than walk away. Jobs left unfinished bother me."

Arthur silently stood, glaring half-heartedly at the blue-eyed blond. The glare changed to curiosity as Alfred removed his gloves with the aid of his teeth as he tugged them off and cast them with his other accessories. Mustering courage, Alfred slipped his fingers beneath the emerald-eyed man's suit jacket and pushed it down the man's shoulders.

Arthur stood stock-still, his face feeling hot as he was paralyzed by Alfred's move to discard the dark green jacket, but he allowed it to fall to the ground. When Alfred's hands began to unbutton the stained white shirt he snapped from his stupor and grasped the cowboy's hands. He drew in a steadying breath and tried to push the other's hands away, but this time the stronger of the two won out. Alfred continued and Arthur didn't bother with resistance again. The Englishman just couldn't muster up the familiar dangerous anger he normally could, and without it, found himself at the mercy of the American.

When the final button came undone, the anger-suppressing American stood back and offered a nervous smile. This would just have to do. Even if Alfred would prefer to keep his denims and Arthur's trousers dry, he just wasn't sure enough to peel anymore clothing away.

Arthur shrugged the shirt off to his elbows and avoided eye contact, preferring to look at the ground instead. The cowboy wasn't about to let this ill formed plan fall through and he set his hands on Arthur's arms to tempt the shirt down, but Arthur flexed at the elbow to keep the shirt in place. The cowboy carefully forced the shirt off the Brit's arms though, and bit his lip at the sight.

The Brit sighed as Alfred stared at his arms. They were lined with ferocious scars and a few burned splotches, which trailed from his wrists all the way to his elbows. The cowboy suddenly began to note the various other scars littering the shorter's torso as well.

While the pale complexion and dampening moonlight had made them hard to spot, now knowing what to search for, the blue gaze traced the various lines marring the Brit's body. Alfred resigned himself to remaining silent and he moved to discard his gray shirt, dropping it over his boots and gently nudging Arthur towards the river.

The shorter thought of digging his heels in, of stopping Alfred and hiding his body beneath the suit jacket again. He knew telling the cowboy to do much of anything would result in obedience, but he found himself unwilling to strike up his voice.

He stepped back into the river, Alfred following, or rather leading until the river came to his waist, and just above Arthur's naval. It tugged at their limbs in a little current that proved more soothing than distressing.

The Brit finally looked up to meet Alfred's eyes in melancholy curiosity.

The cowboy slipped his hands into the water and took hold of Arthur's wrists bringing them above the surface, running his thumbs over the scarred skin there.

"I think we need to talk, Artie."

The Brit said nothing, but felt the American circle his arms around his shoulders in a hug when he didn't respond. Arthur leaned his forehead against Alfred's chest and allowed the American to undrape one arm from his shoulder to return to running his hand down the Brit's arm, thumbing the trace lines of his scars.

"And I think we 'ought to be startin' with these here. Would ya tell me, please?"

Arthur mentally prepared himself. He should have seen this coming. The cowboy would have found out sooner or later.

"I'd rather not, but I suppose my options are limited, aren't they."

"I won't force ya."

"I know," the Brit swallowed hard and felt the annoying sting behind his eyes. He refused to cry, no matter how painful the repressed thoughts were as they surged up. "But you deserve to know." And he wondered just which scar to begin with.

**Angsty, huh? =/ That's what happens when you've got to these two screwed up people and you mash their problems together.**

**Next chapter: Arthur's past revealed!**

**I might cry next chapter, 'cause thinkin' about it already has me all sniffly, but then again I'm sort of a loser like that! Lol xD**

**Reviews! They really do make me smile!**


	11. Rose Garden Nights

**Chapter 11: Rose Garden Nights**

**American Trains**

**Chapter 11: Rose Garden Nights**

**Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)**

**A/N: I should have included this earlier but now it has some meaning. In this fic I'm place Alfred at about 25-26 years old and Arthur at 27. Believable ages, right (I've noticed believable ages in fanfics are about as rare as believable ages in RPGs, or is just me)? Don't nag at me about the years; you'll get the explanation later. :P It'll make sense, I promise! Just trust me on this one.**

**Reviews:**

**Kay, you are now officially Kay. :P**

**Inkaugneato, it happens to me all the time. 'Profession' is the word that really screws me up because I always used to think it had 2 'f's in it, and not 2 's's and I enjoy random notes! :D**

**All the folks curious about the pirates vs secret agents. I'm trying to think of which theme to set my next story if I ever do make one. Both would be fun to write. Pirates for the history and flexibility but secret agents because modern work is a thrill to write for the more connectivity you get with characters. :P**

**Anyway, enjoy this longer piece of horribly thrown together history because after writing the first three sentences I totally threw out all of Arthur's planned history and wrote this based on my plan 'B' for Arthur.**

Arthur looked sidelong at the American holding him. Alfred mirrored him, waiting with a small patient smile. The Brit finally gave in with a sigh.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everythin.' So why don't ya start at the beginnin'?"

Another heavy sigh and Arthur wrapped his arms around Alfred's waist, flush against him, making the cowboy blush some. He chuckled mischievously, but let the obvious scarlet shade on Alfred's cheeks go.

"I was born in London, 1843."

"Ya older than me then." Alfred interjected. Arthur smirked, he'd never really thought about Alfred's age. The cowboy did look rather young though. Shaking off the thought, he continued.

"My mother bore me out of wedlock, so there was never much she could do. I remember living poorly and I never did meet my natural father. Mother didn't speak of him often. I don't think she ever missed him; she was too busy to worry.

"She'd been a nurse before me. Having a bastard child made it impossible to return to any respectable profession afterwards, though. We lived in the slums. I was too young to remember all of it, but I know she was miserable, no matter how much she smiled. No one could be happy the way we lived."

Alfred took the moment to pull the Brit tighter against him as he felt the shorter start to shake.

"Fucking Hell, she didn't deserve it." Arthur whispered and forced himself not to cry. "She was a damned good person, Alfred. I miss her."

"I miss my ma too, Artie." The cowboy tried to soothe.

"Doesn't everyone, at some point?" The Brit mumbled, collecting himself and continuing. "No matter.

"My mother attempted to keep a domestic occupation while looking after me. She managed to make it all work. I never truly understood her plight until I was much older. How could I? Before then, all I knew then was that my mother, no matter how exhausted she was from work, always had time for me.

" She taught me writing and maths, everything she knew and everything she learned as she learned it herself.

"At some point, I started to understand just what was happening. I began to understand that I was the cause of our living. The laws condemn the mothers of bastards, you know. I never told her what I knew. I didn't want her to worry about me. She did enough as it was.

"I found work as early as I could, errand boy and all.

"We scraped by though. I think I was happy. I don't know. My mother always smiled in those days, and I think that made life bearable.

"That changed though." Arthur leaned against the cowboy's sturdy body a bit more.

"What happened?" Alfred prodded gently, adjusting to the bit of extra weight.

"My mother met a man. She told me he was a very special man, whom she'd fallen in love with. At first I was skeptical, he was a bobby, and I'd never trusted them to begin with."

"He was a what?" Alfred glanced down at the Brit in his arms, a puzzled look on his face. Arthur chuckled, but didn't bother to look up at the American.

"Lawmen, police, whatever you might call them out here in this hellhole."

"Oh, I get what ya sayin' now." He said and set his chin on the top of Arthur's head, their height difference allowing it rather comfortably.

"Yes, he was part of the Metropolitan, but he seemed to make my mother so happy, and I couldn't object to her happiness, even if the man unnerved me.

"Despite the controversy, they were wed and we gave up our home in the slums for his own. It was a lovely house with a few servants. I can't say the same for the occupants, though. My new father had two older sons from a previous marriage.

"I was told his first wife had died of pneumonia, though I never believed him."

"How come?" Alfred inquired.

"He was a violent barbarian, that's why." The Englishman growled out.

"I know he murdered his sick first wife, he had to have. The way he treated us, I know he did."

"Maybe ya should explain?" Alfred offered, playing with the stray strands of golden hair at Arthur's neck.

"I suppose. For a time, I was content there. My two new brothers were, albeit cruel to me, never as bad as I knew they could be. I could always escape them if I were to hide in the home's rose garden. It was a rare luxury in the city, even if it was small.

"My adoptive father pushed us all for excellence, even a runt like myself. We each had private tutors. Even if the man was a bobby, he wanted the three of us to go much higher in life, to bolster his damaged reputation. A man who can turn two sons and a bastard into doctors or into Parliament potentials certainly would have a bit more respect.

"My brothers didn't take kindly to being pushed, though. They were used to a much easier, less studious life. Naturally, the blame fell to me.

"When those two felt like boxing me around a bit, I would go and hide amongst the roses. They never bothered to look for me there, or perhaps they just never thought the scratches of the thorns were worth it. Whichever it was, those bloody bushes became my safe haven.

"Some of my cuts are from those very thorns that protected me. The others came later.

"One day, after spending the afternoon hiding in the rose bushes, I came back into the house to find my mother crying. I'd never seen her cry before, not even on the worst of days back home in the slums.

"When I approached her, I could see the bruises on her wrists and face. She told me not to worry and dried her tears. She kissed my forehead and went back to tending the house. I'd become familiar with bruises over the year we'd lived there, courtesy of my brothers, and knew the bruises on my mother were varied in age.

"I suppose I never noticed before. All her normal garments covered her arms. I'd only glimpsed the bruises that had been inflicted on what little exposed skin my mother ever showed. The ones on her face were fresh.

"In the next few months that followed, I noticed my adoptive father had become more and more violent. He used to only extend his angry outbursts to my elder brothers, but eventually, it spread directly to my mother, then to myself.

"My mother stopped smiling, and my brothers came after me more and more. My adoptive father was slowly driving us all to Hell. He began drinking heavily, and his normal violent attacks became worse.

" I heard them yell at each other often, though my mother rarely talked back. Mostly, the fights were about my adoptive father's reputation. Things increasingly became worse.

"One night, I watched him beat my mother in the foyer. I watched him completely crush the one thing in my life that I loved, and I could do nothing. He was bigger than I was, stronger and the liquid courage did nothing to soften his temper.

"I was stupid. I should have walked away, but I couldn't. Not from my own mother. I tried to stop him and he beat me unconscious when I intervened.

"I don't recall much of it all until the night after, when I woke to my mother trying to tend my wounds with her old nursing instincts. I spent a day or so, hung up in bed, under my mother's watchful eye.

"Of course, that didn't please my adoptive father." Arthur paused and drew in a shaky breath.

"Ya don't have to tell if don't wanna, y'know?"

"How could I stop now? You're the first person to hear any of this, and if I said you deserved to know, then I'll damned well tell you."

"Really?" Alfred unhooked his arms from Arthur, and held the man at arm's length to look him in the eye.

"Who else would I tell, my dear brute?" The shorter dipped his fingers in the slowly moving water. "Would you rather I stop?"

"Nah. I wanna know, and I think ya ought to be tellin', anyway."

"Very well." The emerald-eyed Brit watched the water between them and only looked up when the water rippled. Alfred moved to a shallower area of the river and sat on the smooth-toned bottom. The water rippled about his abdomen and he beckoned Arthur over.

"Stuff like this, ya ought to sit for it."

"How would you know?" Arthur asked as he treaded to Alfred. The cowboy shrugged.

"After the war ended I had to give a lot a' mothers the news that their sons wasn't ever comin' home again. Ya learn how to make the best of what ya given."

Arthur nodded and sat between Alfred's legs, leaning back against his chest. The blue-eyed man sputtered, blushing furiously.

"Ya real forward, Mr. Kirkland." He stumbled out.

"And you blush often. A correlation, perhaps?"

"Got no clue what ya mean." The cowboy responded and draped his arms around Arthur's shoulders. "But I'm listenin'."

Arthur nodded and painfully thought back.

"That night when my mother went to bed, I found myself unable to sleep. I remember feeling like something was off. I didn't feel right and just when I thought of going to wake my mother, I heard the door to the room I was in open. I remember all of it so clearly, painfully so.

"My adoptive father walked into the room with a candle lit. I suppose it wasn't that unusual. I think I hoped that maybe he just wanted to check on me, maybe apologize. I knew that wasn't the case though, but young and delusional as I was, I let him get close.

"When he stopped at my bedside, I knew very well he'd been drinking. I could smell the alcohol and see his hazy eyes and the flush of his face. I remember he smiled at me before he covered my mouth to shut me up."

Arthur started to shiver again, but there was nothing Alfred could do but give the Englishman his indefinite patience.

"He-he told me that I was a horrible son. That I was the reason my mother never smiled anymore, the reason he drank and that it was my fault my brothers came after me. He told me how the others at his work scorned him and his reputation was unsalvageable. He told me that I deserved everything that was to happen to me.

"I was too scared, too overwhelmed to do anything. I was barely fifteen, still dazed and my adoptive father was stronger than he led on. He pinned me and gagged my mouth before he tore my nightshirt open and-and"

Arthur's hand went to the scarring marks on his stomach. He rubbed at the splotched marks.

"He burned me with the candle. He let the hot wax drip and burn my skin."

The Brit traced another mark on his arm: the same ugly burn scarring against the middle of his forearm.

"He burned me a few times, and when the wax cooled he ripped it from my skin. I cried. It hurt terribly, Alfred. A few punches, bruising vices, eventually, though, he said I'd learned my lesson, and that I'd best change my ways and left me, still bound and gagged. Before he left, he threatened me, saying that if I told anyone of this night he'd make sure I never spoke another word again. But, how could I change what I was? I couldn't change the past, still can't…

"My mother found me the next morning. I remember her crying as she undid my bonds and begging me to tell her what had happened. I couldn't tell her though; I was too afraid my adoptive father would find out I'd told.

"When my mother had finished tending the burns as best she could, she went about her housework with a solemn look while I tried to sleep the pain off.

"When I woke again that night, it was to the sound of screaming and fighting. I stumbled out of bed and down the hall until I stepped in something wet. It didn't occur to me for a few moments as to what it was. It was blood, dampening the floor in a grisly trail.

"Against my better judgment, I followed the trail to my eldest brother's sleeping quarters. I found his body limply hanging off his bed and knew from his form that he was dead. He looked like a rag doll, tossed carelessly into the room.

"Shock kept me from breaking down then and there, and I left the room, feeling like I was in a trance. When I walked into the foyer, I found my other adoptive brother just as my eldest. Dead.

"I didn't know what to think, and I only followed the sound of fighting before it finally went silent. I saw my adoptive father in the hallway, then. He was walking towards me, blood splattering him and I think then I realized just what was happening. Just the murderous look in his eyes made it clear. I was going to die, just like my brothers. This horrid man had a knife in his hand and he'd already slain his own kin. What was another bastard child's blood on his hands?

"The panic hit me and I ran. I fled to the only place I could think, the rose garden. Of course he followed me. The thorns may have deterred bored older siblings, but they hardly stopped a man out for blood.

"He wrestled me out of the bush. I fought like all hell, Alfred, but there's only so much a wounded runt like myself could do against a trained man. He put the knife to my throat and glared down at me. He told me this was my fault, that he was going to make good on his threat and that I shouldn't have told mother. But I didn't, Alfred, I didn't! I swear I didn't tell! I don't know how he knew! I didn't-"

Alfred pulled the panicking Arthur against him as tightly as possible.

"Arthur, it's ok! It's over. It's done. Ya fine, ya here with me and ya fine. Please, calm down." He tried as the Brit panted hard in his arms, eyes moistening and spilling over in tears. He flinched and thrashed pathetically for a moment before ceasing the futile attempt to escape the American's arms.

"I didn't tell…I swear, Alfred." He breathed out in between pants.

"I know ya didn't, but it's over."

Gradually, Arthur calmed down and dried his eyes, swearing for performing what he deemed a childish act. He still shook, but Alfred's presence was a genuine help and he let the cowboy comfort him.

"Ya wanna stop?"

_Yes! __Stop __this! __He __knows __you __too __well __as __it __is !_The angry voice snarled in his head. _Don't_ _bare __your __soul __to __him. __You __know __how __it __ends!_

"No." Arthur shook his head. Stopping the tale now, and forever leaving it unsaid would kill him. He had to say it, to get it off his chest.

"He told me awful things, what he'd done to my mother and brothers and all. Everything he could think to frighten me to my death before he cut it out of me. When he finally put the blade to my throat, my only reaction was to try to fight one last time. I caught him by surprise and I'm not sure how, but I managed to bite or wrestle the blade from his hand.

"In the tussle at one point, I managed to get a shot at him. I took it and stabbed the blade into his neck. He froze up and glared death at me before I wrenched the blade back and watched him bleed to death in seconds at the edge of the thorny bushes.

"I don't know how long I sat there, just watching the blood tack up, but when I came to my senses and realized what I'd done, I started to cry. Not because that bleeding prick of a man was dead, but because I had actually done it. I was fifteen, and I was already a murderer.

"I rose and wandered back into the house. I wanted to find my mother, even if deep down I knew she was dead, my aching heart just wouldn't allow it. I had to know, I had to see her.

"I found her back down the hallway, her throat slashed horribly. She'd fought hard. I could see the defensive wounds on her hands and arms. She'd died painfully, probably in terror and all because of me. He'd told me so. That awful man went to drinking and beating because of me, and somehow I never knew I'd done that to him.

"I'd always known the burden I'd been on my mother, but I didn't know I'd done it to my adoptive father as well. Now they'd all suffered for it, all but me. In a sense, I killed four people that day and I should have taken a fifth and destroyed myself."

"Stop."

Arthur made a soft, surprised noise and craned his neck to look back at Alfred. The cowboy was looking down at him with a stern expression.

"Don't ya ever say somethin' like that again, Arthur, ya hear me? Ya don't need destroyin' like a mad dog."

The Brit continued to look up at him silently, mulling those drawled words over in his mind. Finally he closed his eyes and chuckled darkly.

"As you wish, my dear brute."

Alfred didn't have a choice but to settle for that, and set his chin back on the top of the shorter's head.

"Either way, I didn't and stumbled out into the street. I managed to flag down a gentleman on an evening stroll for assistance. The next few days were a bit of a blur. The Bobbies tried to talk to me, I didn't tell them the whole story though. I told them my adoptive father had taken his own life after killing the others and that I'd hid and escaped him. They all knew of his drinking problems and, of course, of me and just how I'd destroyed the man's life. To them, the story added up. They left it as such, and I remained free of a crime I'd committed.

"Due to my age, and my-" The Englishman paused and bit his lip. "My status, as a bastard, I was not supported under law. They took my age down as 16 and sent me to live my life on the streets as I was, like a stray dog.

"I was used to the slums. I'd never forgotten how fend for myself mostly. I lived, I begged, I stole, it all went on, except for my dreams. When I slept, I started to hear a voice, my own, but different somehow.

"I don't honestly remember when it started. Doesn't everyone occasionally speak with themselves in their minds? Only I'd never had a different voice answer me in return, until then.

"It unnerved me, but it was just another oddity in my strange life. I was more concerned with finding a meal, rather than the philosophical debate of inner monologue.

"It was when I strayed a bit from my usual grounds and decided to walk the Thames that I found out something terrifying.

"I remember walking the length of the Thames to a bridge, and I remember being back at my thin shelter in the slums, but I don't remember the time in between: the walk back. Those kinds of instances started to occur a bit more frequently. They were only small bits of time missing in my memory, but they became more and more troubling.

"The first instance I recall, nothing happened, but the second time I found something in my pocket. It was a pair of broken spectacles.

"The third time, I found the penknife. I'd thrown both things away, but every instance afterwards, I somehow recovered the penknife. Eventually I gave in, and kept the knife with me.

"I realized I was different then, truly, completely different.

"I woke up to blood staining my clothes, to strange objects in my pockets, even cuts on my skin that I don't recall ever receiving."

The emerald-eyed man skimmed his fingers down the slashes on his arm, the soft scar tissue slightly raised.

"Then one night, when I went to walk the Thames again, I felt like I had snapped from a trance and found myself soaked in blood, over the body a young girl. I remember she had hair so pale it was almost white. She was a pretty girl; only trouble was that she was dead. My hands were soaked in blood, the penknife in them and I had no idea as to just who she was.

"We were still beside the Thames, but much farther down than I had ever walked before. I didn't know just where I was or how I arrived there and a voice from the darkness startled me. I turned and ran, but I looked back to see a very tall man approach the lass' body. He shared her extremely pale hair. What made the impression of him stand so strongly in my mind were his eyes. They were almost inhuman in color, like a startling violet.

"I know he saw me running, he called after me in another tongue that I didn't recognize but I certainly didn't stop.

"I ran all the way back to my adoptive father's abandoned home. I climbed the black-iron fence into my safe haven. The roses had long since died with no one to tend them, as they need to be, but the skeleton thorn briar of them remained.

"I don't know why I chose then to return. I hadn't seen the home since my family had been slaughtered. Maybe the fact that I killed again drew me back. I don't know, Alfred, I really don't.

"I hid there for the night. When I woke the next morning, I noticed the bustle in the streets, people whispering strangely. The news of a murderer was already filtering about, and I knew they meant me even if they didn't know my name or face.

"I knew then I had to leave London. The city wasn't safe anymore, for me or from me. I snuck onto the next steamer to leave on the Thames to Calais, in France. I stayed in that awful country far too long. I hated it there, but it was all I had left until I could peddle enough money to come here. I know I killed again, human or animal I don't remember. I just woke to blood. It took me a few years to save what money I could to afford the steamer ticket.

"A steamer to here is certainly an expensive fare, I don't recommend it." The Brit tugged at Alfred's arms absently as he finished his story and silent tears were falling down his cheeks. He hadn't realized he'd been crying, or for how long since the annoying sting at his eyes had been apparent the entire time, though he thought he had the offending salt water under control.

"Don't worry, Artie, I didn't plan on goin' anywhere past my side a' the Atlantic shore." Alfred murmured and tried to wipe the wet trails from Arthur's cheeks. The Brit batted his hands away.

"Don't coddle me, Alfred! I'm not a child!"

"But ya cryin.'"

"I most certainly am not!" Arthur defended and continued to swat at Alfred's heavy hands while the American laughed in good nature. It felt good to laugh, and to see Arthur become adorably flustered. It made the dismal tale easier to slowly process and mull through.

"Thanks fer tellin' me, Arthur." The cowboy whispered earnestly.

"You aren't upset? Disgusted? Afraid?" The Brit looked back up to Alfred. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth in nervous habit.

"If I was, would I still be here?"

"No. I suppose not." The Englishman leaned back and closed his eyes, simply enjoying the cool of the river water and the sharp contrast of Alfred's body heat. "Thank you for that, brute."

"'S not a problem."

Alfred could live with that. Could he really blame the Englishman after all of that, of this? He'd discovered it was damned near impossible to be angry or upset or even troubled by Arthur or his actions. If so, it didn't last long. The green-eyed Brit had that strange effect on the cowboy.

One thing truly unnerved the cowboy though, Arthur's description of the witness. It sounded far too close to the description of Ivan.

**There's history in this one! :D**

**Ok, let's start with the setting.**

**1840s London was probably one of these most disgusting, overcrowded and screwed up cities of the time. The city was a target for influxes of people from the country side who wanted to find work with the the factories and machines the Industrial revolution had swept into the so called Western world. People poured into London so quickly that in less than 100 years from 1800 to 1900 the city's population increased 6x. Now 100 years seems like a long time and it is, but most cities never ever saw that kind of growth and most still really haven't.**

**The city builders in London were baffled, the couldn't keep up with expanding the city as fast as the people poured in. This is where the normal poor quarters called the 'slums' came into play. Even people with money were forced to live in the slums, there simply wasn't enough living space.**

**While the builders scrambled to try and come up with ways to solve the problem, the issue with sewage and drainage was still very much prevalent. Sewage was being emptied into the Thames river, which provided drinking water to the London citizens. Disease and cholera were running rampant. Engineers and designers (I can't recall the very famous one's name who proposed the drain system, and the internet is being a big fail. I remember him from AP Euro last year and now I can't find my notes on it. Frustrating, no? There's two names I recall but they weren't the ones who actually fixed the problem. They just proposed things. They were John Martin and Joseph Bazalgette(but he came a lot later like, 1860s))**

**Naturally these poor living conditions made London the criticism of everyone who knew the word sanitation. Queen Victoria herself suffered from the awful smell of the air and horrid pollution of all the factories in London.**

**Speaking of the Queen: Just because England had a queen doesn't mean women had it any better than before, in fact when Victoria took the throne, women lost even more rights. Before, women who divorced had the right to some property, later laws were passed that made the married couple one in the eyes of the law. When they split, women were no longer safe under the law. They lost every inch of property and money they might have had or earned prior to marriage.**

**Women were limited to certain professions. Nursing was a big one that many women entered after Florence Nightingale (sometime around the 1850s) however there were plenty of female nurses, hence Arthur's mother's professional. Domestics were about the only other jobs a woman was allowed to hold.**

**Anyway, prior to the 1930s women who slept with men unwed and bore children under law were protected. The father had to help support the child (like child support checks today) and the women were given food and housing and so forth. This became known as 'baby-farming' when women would exploit men for their money. When it started to become a problem and Victorian morals made it to politics laws were passed the quite literally criminalized women having bastard children. Fathers were no longer forced to support their children and the mothers were looked down upon so disdainfully that many work places removed them from the force completely.**

**Marrying a woman with a bastard child was considered a sin in the eyes of God, sort of like marrying a known prostitute back then. Any man with that woman was looked down upon as well and so were his sons/family, ect.**

**Also a woman's body was considered very 'clean' back then. Every inch of skin except the face was to be covered so no one but the husband was to see. Even mentioning about a woman's leg was a big no no.**

**No one in London called the Metropolitan Police that. They hated the word 'police' as it was borrowed from the French and many thought of it as an oppressive word.**

**Robert Peel formed an official police act in 1829 and established the Metropolitan Police the same year as a way to ease the suspicion of the cruelty of the original Bow Street Runners (whom nearly all modern police agencies are said to found from) and the Constablery , and also the harsh treat of the Marine Police who protected the Port of London. These new law enforcement agents were nicked named 'bobbies' or 'peelers' after their founder (Robert Bob 'Bobbies', Robert Peel 'peelers'). Oh course not many trusted this new organization all that much.**

**Also a detective branch of the Metropolitan Police wasn't established until 1842 but could never really get their act together due to poor local cooperation and inner turmoil with the other forces. It was until 1878 when they reformed and renamed to Criminal Investigation Department that they got their act together and actually started to be somewhat effective. Oh course their wasn't the kind of detective work their is today. No DNA or anything of the such so tracing a murderer without a name or distinct evidence was damned near impossible. Not to mention that crime in London was rather high. they simply didn't have the time or man power to investigate a lot of these cases.**

**Steamships were often referred to as 'Steamers' or 'Steam barges' in England and London had the biggest influx of them. They easily traversed the English channel within a few hours and made travel from England to continental Europe incredibly easy. Travel across the Atlantic was still very much expensive though.**

**The first cross on a steamship over the Atlantic only took place in 1819 by the American steamship_Savannah_and that was with no passengers besides the crew. So it still was expensive and sort of a pain to get across by the 1860s.**

**Also, Calais, France is a real place and was a major port city (i think it still is) that was very close to London.**

**As many of you pointed out DID is often caused by childhood trauma. It can be anything from physical trauma to emotional (or both in Arthur's case). A major symptom described by sufferers is memory black outs and often returning to their own minds with foreign objects or in places they don't recall ever knowing. Self harm can also be present due to the alter's personality often being unstable in manifestation. Suicides are sometimes apparent but not always in DID cases.**

**Also the rose garden is a bit nationalistically symbolic. The Rose is England's national flower, and a proud Englishman back in the day of course had such a lovely flower such as a rose in his garden. ;) The original of the rose as the national flower emerged after the War of the Roses during the 1400s which ever terrible civil wars fought between two royal houses. It was the Lancasters versus the Yorks who's coat of arms held the red and white roses respectively. York was defeated by future King Henry VII who ended up making peace with France and screwing up the trade with Netherlands for wool and made the Spanish really happy and I could go on forever, but I won't, so there!**

**I hope I covered everything. If you're confused about anything or I missed a major part or name, leave it in a review and I'll edit this. ;)**

**btw, that girl that Arthur killed by the Thames? That was Natalia (Belarus). ;)**

**Reviews equal love, peeps!**

**Show me some reviews, please! :P Veeee~!**

**I just noticed this over OVER 6000 (words)! :DDDD**


	12. Down the River

**American Trains**

**Chapter 12: Down the River**

**Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)**

**A/N: Hello again dearies! Sorry this update came a bit later than usual. You've all probably noticed my updates have gone from every day to every 2- 3 days now. I'm rather sorry about that! Work has just been kicking my ass all over the place with my crazy late hours. I'm not getting home until 11pm to 12pm every night, and I'm so tired by then I don't want to think about plot! xD**

**Anyway, the 2 -3 days updates will probably become normal and may start to extend more as school's about to start back up pretty soon.**

**So enough about me, let's move on to ya'll.**

**Reviews:**

**Alguien22792: Yep, that was supposed to be Belarus that Artie killed. ;)**

**Inkaugneato: Aw! I didn't mean to make ya cry! *hugs***

**Unruly: Killing people makes stories so much better! xD**

**Kay: It's not even that long or that bad of a name, but for some reason I can't recall the order of the letters and start to feel dyslexic every time I see your pen name. Lol**

**Anyway, Plan A for Arthur was the classic Bruce Wayne story, y'know, parents murdered right in front of him by some stranger, all that good jazz. As I started writing it a divine muse came down to me and in the moment of enlightenment I realized Arthur is just too good for a cliché, overused past and so I used a different but slightly twisted cliché, overused past to get around that damned muse. :D**

**As to everyone else who will read this…**

**This morning I went to check my email to see if adobe had sent me their August or September offers I logged in to find about 200 messages from FanFiction! Oh My Gosh, I never realized just how many people have actually reviewed, story alerted and all that other stuff! I stared at that stupid screen with the 200 messages in shock for a good few minutes before grinning like an idiot. Haha Thank you guys and gals! You people are so amazing! Thanks again for being a fantastic audience and enjoy this chapter with a bit of Alfred's past! :DDD**

The clatter of hooves startled Alfred and Arthur from their thoughts, and the two looked to see Hero wandering past them along the river shore. Cisco wasn't far behind.

"I never tied 'em." Alfred muttered and then started to giggle. "Guess we're lucky they good animals, huh?"

Arthur cocked a thick eyebrow at the American's strange giggle but nodded.

"I suppose so. You're still a git for forgetting in the first place, though." The Brit retorted with a quick smirk.

"Hey, Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"Ya okay?"

Was he? No, but he did feel better than before. That relief had been apparent ever since the cowboy had found him tangled in barbwire in the desert. Finally getting years of misery off his chest in only some short moments did wonders for the Brit as well.

"I've been through worse and with less company. I'll manage." Arthur responded and dipped his hand into the water and flicked water droplets over his shoulder at Alfred.

The cowboy yipped in surprise and the Brit chuckled.

"Now, weren't we supposed to be washing?" Arthur moved out to the deeper water of the river and dipped under. He came back up again and started combing his fingers through his hair, trying to remove the grit from his blond locks.

Alfred wadded out after Arthur and attempted the same thing, the desert dust clinging stubbornly even as his fingers clawed through his hair.

Arthur was having much more success, and when he was satisfied with removing the blood, dirt and grit, he wadded back to the shore. He started skimming the beaded water off himself, flinging it away with a shake of his wrist. He looked down at his clinging, soaked trousers then.

He'd realized Alfred was body shy, albeit only around Arthur, but maybe it would have been better to have gone a step further and removed their lower body wear. He glanced back in surprise when he heard Alfred gasp.

Obviously the cowboy's already heavy denims, now thoroughly soaked, weighed a bit more than expected as Alfred was stumbling out of the water, nearly falling over himself with the unexpectedly added weight.

"You really are hopeless." Arthur resigned, and slipped out of the clingy material around his legs. As much as it pained him to wring the rather nice suit trousers, there was nowhere to hang them. He'd have settle for twisting the water out of the fabric.

With a dissatisfied grunt, he slung the trousers over his shoulder and proceeded to attempt to wrangle Hero and Cisco, both of whom were standing a little ways down the river. As he passed Alfred, who was trying to avoid looking at Arthur's nearly naked self, the Brit sighed. He snatched the American's wrist and bodily dragged him up to his side.

"Go fetch our horses, would you? You may be poor with people-"

"Just ya."

"However you chose to word it, but you're better at catching an un-tacked horse than I."

"Alright." Alfred nodded and went to the horses. Hero stood stock still for his rider and allowed Alfred to get a lead rope around his head. Cisco proved a bit more trouble. Clearly the mare had been enjoying the lack of material looped around her face and tossed her head a few times before Alfred got the mare to cooperate.

When he returned with the two horses he found Arthur waiting, staring out at the ridge top absently.

"Uh, Arthur, ya gonna put ya pants back on?"

The Brit furrowed his brows, startled from his thoughts, and looked back at the blue-eyed American.

"I never removed them, git."

"Huh? They over ya shoulder, Arthur. Are ya sure ya okay?"

"I'm fine. It's you and this backwards country that aren't 'okay.'" The Brit rolled his eyes and held up the suit trousers. "These are not pants, brute, they are trousers. These-"

Arthur tugged at the edge of his undergarments. "-are pants. There is a rather large difference, wouldn't you agree?"

"What ever ya say, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred shrugged and led Hero and Cisco to one of the few scraggly bushes at the edge of the river and loosely tied them. He retrieved another set of food bundles and the old canteen before moving back to where he'd left the nearly naked Brit.

The man was sitting with his legs crossed now, still looking back at the ridge. The scuffle of the smooth edge of the river rock and transitioning sand under the cowboy's feet alerted Arthur to the other's return. He didn't bother to look back when he spoke.

"If you're still wearing those soaked denims, and I know you are, remove them. You'll become ill if you try to sleep in those."

Alfred muttered something unintelligible and felt his cheeks heat, again. He obeyed, however, undid the denims and wrenched his way out of the clingy and heavy material. He shivered as the night air breezed against his legs and sat down with his legs crossed, like Arthur.

"We're going to need a fire."

"I got matches in my saddle packs."

"All we need is tinder and wood." The Brit glanced back and smiled deviously at Alfred, who in turn, blushed furiously at the emerald gaze over his body.

"Fetch, brute. I'll start collecting what's washed up along the river's shore." He ordered after watching the cowboy squirm a bit. Rising to his feet, the Englishman left the soaking trousers on the ground and started down the river shore.

Alfred grunted as he got back to his feet and walked back to Hero, leaving the food and canteen on the ground.

The chestnut nudged his rider's hand and the cowboy stroked the animal's furry cheek. He continued to pet the horse and leaned his forehead against Hero's thick neck. He found himself exhausted from the nighttime trauma that had preceded. If Arthur wasn't expecting the matches upon his return, the cowboy would have fallen asleep on his feet, content to lean on his horse.

Returning to that thought, Alfred began to rummage through the saddle pack once more and managed to find the matchbox, but couldn't find the clump of tinder he knew to be deviously eluding him. Exasperated, he glanced up to silently glare his frustration up at the sky and glimpsed Arthur's form treading the riverbank.

The Englishman's pale, water-beaded body glistened under the three-quarter's light and the cowboy thought he did look rather nice. Only one thing was off.

As the Englishman walked, he passed numerous pieces of bark and wood that had beached on the shallow banks and even past loose shrubs that would have made valuable fuel. He proceeded on, as if he didn't see them.

Curious, Alfred set his hands on the saddle and rested his head in the light dip of the cured leather to watch. Arthur's purposeful strides stopped and he knelt to curl his fingers around something and rose back to full height. The American's clear blue eyes alighted on the slender metal object resting now in Arthur's hand, the penknife.

The Brit turned it over in his hand and examined it with far away green eyes before uncapping the blade and running his fingers over the flat of the razor-sharp blade. Old memories drifted in and out of his subconscious, glimpses of faces and whispers of voices fluttered by before he recapped the blade and started to walk back, beginning to collect the pieces of fuel he'd passed earlier.

Alfred sighed, even if Arthur had told him he'd be okay, the cowboy felt doubt worm uncomfortably in his stomach. He wanted to believe the Brit, but his senses just seemed unwilling to cooperate. He forced his worry away with a couple of long, deep breaths and returned to rummaging for the elusive tinder.

When he still hadn't found it by the time Arthur had collected all he could carry, having set into a neat pile beside their clothes and meal, the Brit approached to inquire what was taking the cowboy so long.

"What's giving you trouble?"

"The tinder! Can't find the damned thing!" Alfred grumbled. Arthur lightly pushed the cowboy to the side and fished around in Hero's saddle packs before he brought his hand back to reveal the tinder clump. He gave a cocky smirk and handed it to Alfred.

"Now, was that so difficult, dear brute?"

The cowboy snatched the offered tinder and grumbled out a quick thanks before moving back to the ring of clothing and food they'd laid out. Alfred knelt and shuffled some of the smooth stones away to make a shallow pit and set the tinder out with a mix of the drier pieces of bark and twigs Arthur had collected. The cowboy pulled out a match, swiped it down the rugged side of the matchbox and watched as the flame jumped to the head. Nudging it to the extremely dry kindling fuel, he gave a triumphant cry as the flame instantly caught and began to creep through the shallow dip the cowboy had dug.

Alfred watched the flame to ensure it didn't snuff out, until it had started to burn the bark, and picked up quite a bit of height and heat. He looked back over his shoulder to inform Arthur to bring their soaking clothes over but found the Brit already there. He was sitting with both their clothes off to his left, cross-legged and watching Alfred with bright, curious eyes. The shorter blond smirked.

"Well, it's about time!"

The cowboy chuckled and grabbed their clothes from Arthur's side, laying them to absorb the heat and dry. Satisfied with that, he took a seat before the fire. He beckoned Arthur closer with one hand and reached for the food and canteen with the other.

The emerald-eyed man inched closer, until his knee bumped Alfred's and gratefully accepted the offered meal. He nibbled at the food while the cowboy eagerly tucked into his own, but found himself glancing over his shoulder, checking the ridgeline occasionally as he had been before.

"Watcha lookin' for?" The American inquired around a mouthful of hard bread.

"Swallow before you speak, twit." Arthur scorned and waited for the cowboy to obey before answering him. "I just have a feeling, as if we're being watched."

"Watched? There ain't no one out here but us and the scorpions." The cowboy responded, narrowing his blue eyes to peer over the ridgeline where Arthur was looking.

Arthur found himself unconsciously checking the ground around him after that. The Brit wasn't much of a fan of things that crawled or slithered or stung. His search for the imaginary creepy-crawlers was snapped by Alfred tapping the Brit's bare shoulder.

"Ya want me to grab Hero and check around?" He offered.

"No, don't bother. I'm sure it's just my over active imagination."

The cowboy offered a cheeky grin.

"Ya don't know. Could be that crazy green jackalope ya was tellin' me about a couple nights ago?" Alfred bayed a bit of laughter as Arthur scowled at that and swore at the cowboy.

"Do shut up, bloody American." He finished and unscrewed the canteen top and sipped the water that remained. He glanced at the river, then to Alfred.

The cowboy got the hint and sighed.

"Why do I got to do it? Ya the one who drank it all!"

Arthur said nothing but grinned wickedly and handed the canteen to Alfred who resigned and went to the river to fill the metal tin.

The shorter blond leaned back some, enjoying the heat of the fire and food in his belly. It made him realize how drowsy he was and he let his eyes slip shut for a few moments until Alfred's return. The cowboy sat down, returning with his sleeping bag and the Brit inched up to him again and Alfred gave him a sidelong look as he gulped down a long draught of the water.

"I'll end up fillin' it again in the morning'." He dismissed and set the canteen aside, rolling out the sleeping bag beside the fire. Arthur, all the while, watched him silently until Alfred spoke again.

"Ya can take it. I don't want ya sleeping on the rocks."

"I'd rather you not sleep on the rocks either." Arthur countered quickly and set Alfred a look that dared the cowboy to try and overrule him and find out just what would happen. Grudgingly, Alfred lay down on his side and stretched his legs out.

Arthur remained upright, avoiding the cold, uncomfortable stones as long as possible.

"Alfred?"

"Huh?" The cowboy propped himself on his elbow and looked down his body at Arthur.

"Would you return the favor?"

"Which one?" Alfred returned with a smirk. Arthur scoffed, but dismissed it.

"I told you about myself, but I don't know much about you."

The cowboy rolled over on his back and furrowed his brows as he set his arms behind his head like a pillow.

"I'm nothin' special."

"Still." Arthur watched the cowboy stare up at the three-quarter moon above them.

"Well, I was born in Pennsylvania, lived there all my life. My dad died when I was little in an oilrig accident not too far out of town. My mom never found a new man and just resigned to raisin' me. She sent my brother, Matthew, to live with relatives in the Kansas Territory. I haven't seen 'im since."

Arthur bit his lip. Matthew, hadn't that been the table cleaner in the saloon he'd killed Francis in? He vaguely wondered if he'd ended up slashing the throat of Alfred's brother's employer.

"The war broke out when I was sixteen. Our town's local officer came 'round, tryin' to drum up support for the Union. As a little kid I'd always dreamed a' bein' someone special, like a hero or somethin.' When the recruiter came to our doorstep, my ma was away at the general store in town. I saw my chance to actually be somethin', other than some nameless, small-town boy.

"'Course, I lied about my age. Man said ya had to be eighteen, but it didn't look like they was turnin' anyone away, and I was a pretty big boy, even for my age.

"The recruiter put my name down and soon enough we received my notice to come join up in camp. I hadn't told my ma until then and she was pretty upset with me. There was nothin' I could now; I owed my body in service to be preservin' the Union.

"My ma and I had a huge fallin' out before I left and I stormed outta my home town with one a' the soldiers they sent to collect me.

"I don't like talkin' about the fightin' much. I only saw a few battles face to face, but it was enough. I got pulled from the field after I got lanced by a Confederate bayonet, and by the time they told me I was good to fight again, the front had moved and our regiment never did quite catch up."

Alfred traced a long pale scar along his stomach.

"Lemme tell ya, Mr. Kirkland, them bayonets are sharp!" He laughed and the Brit rolled his eyes but smiled in Alfred's apparent mirth.

"Anyway, after the war finally ended, I thought I was just gonna go home and be welcomed back as some kind a' war hero. But y'know, life just don't work that simple. While I was waitin' for some transfer in Virginia, I got a telegram from my aunt. She said my ma had moved on from our town and was livin' in New Jersey.

"She didn't leave me an address; I don't think she wanted me to follow my ma, cause she knew I'd upset 'er. My aunt never did like me or my brother much. I mean, I know my ma was mad about me joinin' the army and all, but I figured she'd a' forgiven me by now. Guess losin' both 'er sons made her more upset than I'd thought."

The cowboy shrugged, his eyes downcast from the stars to Arthur's brilliant green eyes.

"That's when I went West. Found a ranch lookin' for good riders and I'd always loved ridin' and we'd had an old mare back in Pennsylvania. Figured I qualified.

" I went and bought Hero with some of the extra money I still had from my war service.

"I knew Hero was my horse when I first saw him. The corral I went to had some real nice horses, but Hero stood out. While most a' the others horses was stayin' in their herd away from me, Hero wandered right up to me, practically demandin' to be pet and given somethin'. 'Course I didn't have nothin', but I don't think he minded too much after I scratched his ears and petted his nose.

"I watched him wander away, but he never went with the other horses. He stayed on his own, prancin' up to anybody who passed by the fence. No one ever stopped for the poor boy though, and I felt bad. He was kinda' like me, y'know? Just wantin' some friends: all by himself, but nobody would give 'im the time a' day. He was a good sturdy boy, too; don't know why no one wanted 'im.

"I bought 'im and started doing some short trails until I got the hang a' things and then we started up doin' our big Northern trails. Did lots to Abilene, passed Dodge a few times, and I got used to fallin' into that cycle a' workin', boozin' and sleepin' in that order and startin' all over.

"I tried makin' friends with the others, but I opened my mouth one night while we was all drinkin' and tellin' old war stories. They started keepin' hostile to me when they figured out my stories was bein' told from the wrong side.

"It all kinda fell out from there. They didn't talk to me unless they wanted somethin', and I fell into drinkin' alone and just talkin' my troubles to Hero. He's a good listener, y'know?"

"He's a horse, Alfred."

"So? Still a good listener. Ya should talk to Cisco sometime; bet she's a good one too."

"I think I'll stick with speaking to humans." Arthur said and then yawned hugely.

The cowboy giggled, and let his eyes slip shut.

"So yeah, that's me till ya came along. Told ya I was nothin' special."

"I disagree, I find you… interesting, I suppose."

The cowboy grinned.

"Thanks, Artie!"

The Brit scowled at the detested nickname, but resisted the urge to scold the tired American as the blue-eyed man yawned loudly.

"If ya don't mind, I'mma get whatever sleep I can." He glanced up at the sinking moon and sighed, rolling back on to his side, falling into a deep sleep near instantly.

The Brit smiled, watching the American drift to sleep and moved to sit beside him, his thigh against Alfred's back. Arthur looked back to ridge and watched the deserted overlook, absently playing with a few strands of the cowboy's freshly washed hair.

That creeping feeling of being observed had never truly left the Englishman, though he'd succeeded in forcing it down to manageable.

As much as he would have preferred to watch the ridge, sleep was proving to be a more meaningful temptation.

Arthur glanced down at the sleeping cowboy and plucked the man's glasses from his face. He seemed to always forget them, and Arthur took the liberty of setting them aside a bit farther off so he wouldn't accidentally roll over and crush them.

Easing himself down beside Alfred, the shorter blond tried to keep the majority of his thin frame on the excess of the cowboy's sleeping bag, rather than the cold stones.

He finally settled himself, resigning that the position he was in now would be the most comfortable no matter how much he squirmed, and that he couldn't possibly inch any closer to the cowboy.

Just as Arthur closed his eyes and started to let his anxiety go, something warm and heavy draped over his side and Arthur's eyes flew wide open. Craning his neck to see that in his sleep Alfred had rolled over and managed get his arm around the Brit. The cowboy squeezed Arthur close like some sort of sarcastic, British teddy bear, and gave a content sigh that rustled the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck. Arthur tried to wiggle from Alfred's grip, but found that even in his sleep, the cowboy was strong and the Englishman couldn't bring himself to wake the peacefully sleeping blue-eyed man.

Arthur stared wide-eyed for a few more moments before letting his shoulders relax and allowing the American to hold him against his chest as he drifted to sleep.

**History? Pshhht! Who needs it! :P**

**Anyway, the only little smidgen of history (and kudos to whoever caught it) was how I referred to Kansas. Kansas was not a state until 1861, so when Mattie went to go live there as described by Alfred, it would still have been a territory, not a state.**

**Yup, that's all. :) Veee~!**

**Reviews, I like them….a lot. *wink* ;)**


	13. Unlucky

**American Trains**

**Chapter 13: Unlucky**

****Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)****

**A/N: OMG, I actually got this done in a day! :D It's gonna be a tiny bit confusing but I'll explain at the bottom, don't you fret!**

**Kay: I'm going with secret agents and already formulating some conflict ideas. I never thought about SWAT!Alfred, that would be awesome, and you are soooo~ right, how could any Brit resist? Lol And same goes for Alfie, how could he possibly resist an MI6!Arthur? Mmmmm, guns, very sexy, sexy guns. Bwuahahaha. :3**

**Anywho~ I've been sketching and hope to bring a little of my own fan art for this soon. ;)**

**Enjoy the short, tense chapter.**

The morning light woke Alfred far too soon for the cowboy's liking. The golden dashes of light were just peaking over the surrounding ridge and alighting the stones and river in a golden bath that made the American smile sleepily as he raised his head up to see. He dropped back down, nuzzling into Arthur's warm, soft hair.

_Wait__…_Alfred bolted up with a furious blush. When had Arthur gotten that close, and when had he managed to get his arm around the Brit's middle? The cowboy sifted through sleep-muddled memories but couldn't come up with any valid explanation.

He had released Arthur, but still had his hand resting just under the other man's ribcage. The American could feel the Englishman breathing deep and even: his side rising and falling gently. Alfred blinked sleepily just watching Arthur before shaking his sleep-addled thoughts off and gently rocking Arthur's side to wake him.

The sleeping man mumbled something unintelligible and grinned in his sleep.

"Alfred…" The Brit grinned wider and Alfred ceased trying to wake him, as he blushed even darker. The cowboy wrung his hands, curious as to just what Arthur was dreaming of with that strange grin on his face and muttering the American's name. The part of Alfred that was indefinitely curious wanted to watch the dreaming Brit further, but the more reserved and shy part of the cowboy wanted to jump and wake the Brit before his mind started to create scenarios.

As Alfred mentally debated, Arthur sighed and stretched out with a huge yawn. His emerald eyes fluttered open and it took him a moment to realize his rather pleasant dream had been just that: a dream. He also realized that the American's warm body wasn't pressed flush against him any longer, nor was Alfred's arm encircled around his middle. Not exactly the way he'd hoped to awaken.

"Oh, ya awake." Alfred stumbled out, hoping the blush had faded from his face. "Ya sleep okay?"

Arthur yawned again and rolled on his back, looking up at the blue-eyed man. He noticed the fading scarlet painting Alfred's cheeks and smirked.

"Yes, I had quite a lovely dream as well."

"Oh, t-t-that's real nice."

"Indeed." Arthur sat up and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He glanced sidelong at the American, who was still knotting his hands. The cowboy looked rather dashing like that, blushing, nearly naked and with the first rays of the sun glistening gold against his lightly bronzed skin. It highlighted his sleep-mussed hair and caught the angle of his crystal blue eyes perfectly. Yes, the Brit would have liked it to stay as such, but the American moved to stand, shattering Arthur's little fantasy.

After that dream and lovely image, the Brit wasn't quite so willing to let the American go just yet and grabbed Alfred's ankle, tugging him back. The cowboy looked down with a curious expression and Arthur patted the sleeping bag beside him for the cowboy to return to sitting.

Obeying the silent command, Alfred sat and cocked his head, curiosity brightening his eyes. The Englishman leaned forward, steadying himself with his hands on Alfred's knees and kissed him lightly.

Arthur was grateful that Alfred only remained still in a stun rather than shoving him back forcefully like last time. Still, it would have been nice for a little reciprocation, but the Brit was patient enough, even if the cowboy was rather unsure.

The shorter drew back a bit, though his hands still rested on the American's knees.

Alfred's face was a comical mix of confusion, embarrassment and even a bit of pleasure. The Englishman found himself chuckling before fully drawing back.

"Uh, what was that fer?" Alfred inquired, whirling in mixed emotions.

"My version of 'good morning.'" Arthur responded slyly and got to his feet, still enjoying the confusion etched in Alfred's expression. "Now come along, don't dally." He offered his hand to help the cowboy up. Alfred accepted the offering and braced his arm to stand with the emerald-eyed man's help.

They picked up their respective leg wear and found them to be dry, albeit stiff and slightly uncomfortable. While Alfred struggled into the rough denims, Arthur made sure to check for any of those aforementioned scorpions, who, in Arthur's over-active mind, would have loved to make a nightly home in his suit trousers.

Grudgingly satisfied, he slipped them back on and moved to where he and Alfred had left the rest of their clothing. Of course the bloodstains hadn't gone anywhere overnight, and Arthur grimaced as he slipped on the blood-soaked shirt. If luck would have it, they wouldn't run into anyone until Arthur could get himself a new dress shirt.

Once he finished buttoning the white shirt, he tugged his dark green suit jacket on and settled it on his shoulders. Glancing over, he found Alfred near completely dressed except for one small detail. The cowboy was squinting heavily and stumbling around, clearly looking for something.

Arthur smirked and walked back to where he'd left the American's glasses, picked them up and walked back to the searching cowboy.

"Missing something rather important, my dear brute?"

"Uh, yeah. Ya seen my glasses?"

"Indeed I have."

Arthur slipped the metal and glass object into Alfred's hand. Alfred perched them on his face and grinned.

"Thanks, Arthur!" He chimed and encircled the Englishman's shoulders in a quick hug before heading to the river to top off the water canteen. While he did so, Arthur thought to be helpful and rolled up Alfred's sleeping bag and tried latching it to Hero's packs as he'd watched the American do before.

He fumbled with the tie and buckle until Alfred returned, reached around him and with practiced ease fixed the strap and patted Arthur's shoulder. The Brit grumbled something about being able to do it himself under his breath, but Alfred wasn't much listening.

As Alfred went to get the bits back in horses' mouths, Arthur took the chance to look back up at the ridge. Naturally, nothing was there, but the hairs on the back of his neck seemed to bristle. Why couldn't he let go of that feeling of being watched?

Forcing it down, he scattered the rocks back over the ashes of their now-dead fire and returned to find Alfred mounted already and holding Cisco's reins out for his companion.

The Brit accepted them and clambered up into the mare's saddle, motioning for the cowboy to lead.

They started off, Alfred choosing the lowest of the ridge to try and ascend for Arthur's sake. The Brit still nervously watched the ground and made Cisco follow Hero's steps with his hands tense on the reins.

Alfred watched in good-natured amusement as Arthur visibly relaxed when they cleared the ridge top and stood overlooking the roll of golden fields before them. In the distance, thevague outline of a ranch house perched in the fields much farther off. In the distance, he could make out the vague outline of a ranch house perched in the fields much farther off.

"Finally, no more of these bloody fucking death-trap hills." The emerald-eyed blond huffed. Alfred couldn't help but giggle.

"They ain't that bad."

"Speak for yourself, twit. Cisco and I could have died trying to navigate that!"

Alfred shook his head and kicked Hero's flank to start down the gently sloping ridge. Arthur scoffed and followed after the cowboy and his chestnut gelding.

The golden grass around them rose to their horses' knees, and without a cause to rush, Alfred decided to set the pace at an easy walk. Arthur didn't object and rode beside the American, merely watching the golden stalks brush by.

Besides the soft rustle of the wind, they rode mostly in silence. Occasionally, Alfred would snatch at a tall stalk and absently toy with it, plucking it apart and flinging the pieces at Arthur, who in turn would growl under his breath, but did nothing to halt the American's apparent attempt at fun.

After combing yet another piece of grass from his messy hair, the Englishman spoke.

"So then, what do you intend to do now?" He asked, trying in vain to tame his blond locks.

"Dun' know. I didn't think that far ahead when we left Abilene. I was kinda hopin' ya did."

"I presume we'll find another town. I can get out of my bloody attire and then, I suppose we can plan accordingly from there."

"Works for me. Now we just gotta find a town!" The cowboy chimed and pointed a gloved finger over the rise of the golden grass.

The Brit's eyes alighted on the shape of the ranch house they'd seen from ridge that morning.

"I'll betcha whoever's livin' there can point us in the direction a' the nearest place."

"I suppose it doesn't hurt to ask." The Brit resigned with a shrug and they fell back in silence until a few moments later; Alfred began to hum softly. The tune was vaguely familiar. Something cheery and summery-light that fitted Alfred with his signature smile. He hummed it continuously as they rode to bay the silence.

They rode like that until the sun began to dip and the light faded from brilliant to dimly orange. By then, they had covered enough ground to see the ranch house clearly. As they drew closer, Arthur noted a small, girlish figure on the porch, and another masculine figure in the grass beside the house.

Though he couldn't hear them, they appeared to be speaking and Arthur could see they shared quite a bit of semblance. He clicked his tongue to gain Alfred's attention and motioned to the two.

"Great! Let's go see if they know where the next town is!" The cowboy said animatedly and clapped his heels to Hero's flank to bring the horse to a trot. Arthur muttered under his breath, but mirrored his companion.

As they drew closer, the male heard the clomp of the horses' hooves and turned to face the two approaching riders. He mumbled something to the girl on the porch and she scurried into the house with a nod. When the man faced them, Arthur noted the long rifle slung over his shoulder with unease.

Alfred didn't seem to share any of the Brit's concern and grinned at the man.

"Hey there, sir! Ya mind helpin' a few lost fellas out?"

The man gave them an apathetic stare and jammed one hand in his pocket, while the other adjusted the gun slung over his shoulder.

"I don't know what you want, and I don't care. Get off my land."

Alfred tipped the brim of his hat. That certainly wasn't the response he'd been expecting! He took the time to look over the man. He had blond hair bright enough to rival the surrounding golden grass and eyes similar to Arthur's, only much darker.

"I'm real sorry to be botherin' ya sir, but we just-"

"You're a cowboy, aren't you?"

The man fished a matchbox out his pocket and absently fingered the box in his hand, still glaring at the two. Alfred narrowed his eyes at the man's tone. Why did he sound so spiteful?

"Yeah, why ya askin?'"

"Get off my land, now." The man ordered again and slipped the gun down to his hand.

"If ya could just point us-"

"Now!" The man ordered again, set the matchbox back in his pocket and cradled the gun to his shoulder. He raised the gun to level: the barrel set at Alfred's chest.

The cowboy's eyes went wide and he tried to speak again, to calm the man down, but clearly he was done speaking. The other man pushed the bolt forward on the rifle, and then locked it down in a non-vocal warning.

"Alfred…" Arthur warned low and turned Cisco away, Alfred mirrored him and apologized for bothering the man. Just as Alfred turned his back fully he heard the click of the trigger, and in that split second of time difference between the explosive exit of the bullet from the trigger pull, knew that shot was meant for him. He cried out in pain as the bullet tore into his shoulder and he lurched forward. Hero startled and lunged, jolting the cowboy's shoulder further as he galloped hard.

Cisco whinnied, and Arthur kicked her hard to follow after the galloping chestnut. The shock of the moment had dazed him. What had just happened? Deep down he knew Alfred had been shot, and the click of the bolt sliding back, forward and locking again alerted him to another shot about to be fired, but he was stunned by the suddenness of it all to fully process that.

The sound of another shot and Alfred yelped in pain again. The Brit's eyes alighted on where the bullet had sliced through the cowboy's denims and the bullet had cut along the side of his calf. He could plainly see the blood already soaking the stiff denims and pooling at the cowboy's shoulder.

He glared over his shoulder at the gunman, feeling anger boil in his blood. Another emotion seized him though, as he saw the dancing tongues of flames suddenly jump up in the golden grass. The gunman was still glaring at them with total apathy as he flicked the spent match out with a shake of his wrist and watched the flames lace the grass.

Arthur watched in horror as the flames sped along the dry grass and raced down a long line that seemed to run parallel to them. Clearly the grass line had been dosed in some sort of flame augmenting fuel.

The Brit switched his gaze back to Hero and Alfred, galloping hard as they approached what should have been the border to the gunman's land. A long fence lined out: barb wire glistening in the glittering, dying light of the sunset before them, marking their escape.

Hero leapt, tucking his legs under as he tried to clear the fence. Just as the horse's body sailed over the fence, his back legs caught the pointed barbs of the wire and the chestnut bayed as he crashed to the ground with his limbs tangled painfully in the wire.

Alfred was thrown from the saddle as the horse went down underneath him and struck the ground hard on his injured shoulder. He cried out in pain and his vision flickered out as the pain paralyzed him on the ground. He could feel the heat from the wall of flames that had, by now, caught up and passed him. The intense heat swallowed up the oxygen, choking the already stunned cowboy.

"Alfred!" Arthur called, and tucked against the mare's neck as she managed to clear the fence, but reared as the fire cut them off. The flames lapped at the startled horse, greedily sucking the breathable air from them and choking them in heat. Arthur gasped as he watched the flames race and burn intensely under the darkening sky.

"Alfred!" He tried again.

The cowboy didn't move however, and panic swelled high in his chest. He barely managed to keep Cisco from bucking him, practically jumping from the saddle to the wounded American on the ground once she was under control. He slid down to be by his side and called Alfred's name again.

Alfred desperately tried to choke out that he was alright, despite the fact that he wasn't, to Arthur as he felt the Brit's arms encircle him and try to lift him from the ground, but the intense heat of the blazing fire trap creeping closer stole the words from his lungs.

A wave of dizziness flooded him, and his vision flickered and swam again. In his haze he heard Hero and Cisco snorting and whinnying in terror and Arthur calling his name, but the sound was drowned by the deafening roar of the fire and his failing consciousness.

Everything hurt, and finally his vision blackened completely as it all fell away; he could no longer fight to stay awake. The cowboy vaguely heard the choke of Arthur's voice just over him as he passed out.

**Yeah****that****was****Switzerland,****and****the****little****girl****was****obviously****supposed****to****be****Liechtenstein.**

**Ok that might have been weird and probably over dramatized however it all sprung from watching a documentary on cowboys on the History Channel the other night. There were apparently some cases of farmers growing so fed up with cowboys trampling their lands and their cattle grazing on their land that some actually set up fire traps for the offending cowboys. They'd set lines of fire augments out trap the cowboys in hopes of being able to either terrify them into never doing such again or being able to trap them and shoot them like fish in a barrel.**

**Yeah, that's how bad it got to be in certain well known cowboy trails. I just saw the documentary and went 'I could totally write that!' Switzerland seemed like an obvious choice for the 'shoot to kill anyone who traipses on my land' kind of angry Kansas farmer, lol.**

**Anyway, horrid cliffhanger and I do apologize for that. **


	14. A Deal With the Devil

**American Trains**

**Chapter 14: A Deal With the Devil**

****Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)****

**A/N: Go figure after I say I won't be able to get this stuff done in a day anymore I mange to. Whatever~**

**Reviews:**

**With-All-Hearts: Bwuahaha, poor Lichtenstein :3**

**Kitkatt: Mercy is only for the good, kind writers. I enjoy tormenting my fictional victims. ;)**

**Kay: How the Hell do you always manage to guess what I'm about to write before I actually write it? Is this perhaps the case of great minds think alike? ;) Lol, aren't I humble?**

**Tensai55: I'm actually rather surprised that hasn't come up sooner. Technically by boundaries you're are correct. I just looked it up to verify ( I apologize, my geography is limited to my ecology studies which really doesn't give a crap where the states or the government draw their boundaries). The Midwest as defined by the US census bureau doesn't include the area I'm referring to in the beginning. The area I'm referring to as defined by the US census Bureau is technically referred to as the South West. The borders are sort of overlapping/disputed once you hit Kansas(which is where Alfie and Artie currently stand). I think when most people say the mid west they mean the plains states(Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado and the Dakotas) however technically the Mid West includes places like Michigan and Ohio. It's a general term that has really been sort of stretched and misshapen in a funny way (as quite a lot of things are). Al is... technically North Eastern (being from Pennsylvania) however he does speak with a 'southern' accent mixed with a Western accent. I'm Southern(Florida) and we certainly don't talk like that. What we get from our more Western and Southern neighbors extends to 'ya'll' and the occasional dropping of the 'g' at end of words, but that's about all. I did play these stereotypes up quite a bit, I'll admit that. Lol. The south also hits that damned overlap at Kansas, so it could go either way, but really it is more 'South Western'... I mean he certainly doesn't talk as if he's from Minnesota(Mid West)! Lol**

**While on the topic of boundaries and regions, I want clarify that the term 'desert' is the same way. When I say desert, I sort of assume (poor on me) that you all understand I'm not talking about the deserts of Africa and Asia. Not bright orange sand where sidewinders crawl and the camels are useful. The technical term for the climate is called a 'steppe' (wow, I'm actually using something from my ecology class)! A steppe in basics is like the transition from plains to desert. You've got real sandy soil, rocky in some places with sparse grass and bush and no trees. It's typically very hot and very dry. Like I said, next step down is the desert.**

**The best example I can think of where these boundary perception beats out definition is my home of Florida. We are almost entirely sub-tropical by definition, which is prime home to large broad leaf trees and pines, ample crops and great for animal grazing with uniquely fertile soil. However if you ask a non-Floridian what they think about Florida's ecoregion, they'll tell you beaches and mangroves. That is just a very, very small region along Florida's outer coast and most ecology won't even register that small of a region on their tropical coastal scale.**

**See what I mean? Kansas is technically Mid West but you probably won't find that many pines like in Ohio and such. I doubt you meant for me to turn this into an eco-rant, but that's just me. I like to clarify random, stupid, useless info. Lol**

**Again, not saying you're wrong (because you aren't) but also clarifying that I'm still within the 'close enough for government work' area, and just ought to have clarified before all this and probably could have found more accurate terms instead of general ones. :P My bad!**

**Anyway, I'll end my mini-rant and let you all read now.**

As the fire blazed around them, Arthur became only aware of the bleeding American in his arms. He trembled as he looked down at Alfred's paling complexion and agonized expression.

"Alfred…" he murmured and touched the back of his hand to the cowboy's cheek, but it was impossible to accurately gauge the cowboy's temperature state with the fire blazing intensely around them.

A cloud of dirt flew up as Hero thrashed to try to get back to his feet. The terrified gelding threw his legs wildly and barely missed the Brit as he tucked over Alfred to avoid the animal's thrashing.

Once Hero had gotten back to his feet and stamped about in pain, the horse seemed to settle more and only flitted about the two men nervously. As the fire started to burn closer, he reared, stamped his forelegs and whinnied.

Arthur could only watch the terrified horse pace so long before he felt it start to affect his own mind, and he forcefully wrenched his gaze from Hero and back to Alfred.

The cowboy had buried his head against Arthur's chest and was shaking badly: his breath came in hard pants that rattled his whole chest. Occasionally his eyes flickered open, but more often than not, he slipped back unconscious.

The Englishman looked back to the fire, inching closer and closer with each second. Biting his lip, Arthur cradled Alfred's shoulders under one arm, the crook of his knees in the other, and stumbled to lift the heavy, limp American.

He stepped to Hero, who was still snorting and avoiding putting weight on his right back leg.

"C'mon, old chap. I've got to help your master, and you're going to help me do it." He whispered to the horse and brushed the animal's side with his shoulder to try and settle Hero. The horsesnorted, but ceased for a moment. It was enough for Arthur to manage to boost Alfred up into the saddle and climbed up himself.

Hero whinnied in pain at the extra weight on his legs, but steadied. Arthur struggled for the reins around Alfred's barely conscious form, but eventually snagged them and kicked Hero hard.

The horse bayed, but lunged forward, starting an uneven gallop under the extra weight and cut leg. They reached the fire's edge and Hero stalled, turning sidelong and fighting Arthur.

With a snarl, the Brit kicked the wounded horse harder and Hero bolted through the wall of flames with a cry of terror that echoed in the sound of the roaring flames. Once past the flames, Hero fought Arthur again, and the Brit gave in, letting the horse stumble his own way and dropped the reins.

The shorter blond directed his attentions back to Alfred, who was conscious at this point and reaching for his wounded shoulder. Arthur sighed and brushed his hand over Alfred's, squeezing the other's bloody fingers.

"Don't."

"Bullet…gotta…. get it…. out." Alfred barely panted out and groaned. Arthur felt the cowboy lean farther against him and shifted to the added weight pressing against his front.

"Blindly fishing for it isn't going to do you any good, Alfred." The emerald-eyed man murmured and pressed gently on Alfred's hand. "It'll be alright, just don't go and make it worse, you git."

Alfred smiled painfully back at Arthur and let his eyes slip shut again, the blood loss making him feel beyond exhausted.

The Brit leaned forward and tugged at the reins; Hero seemed more than grateful to stop.

Arthur carefully climbed down, trying to avoid jolting the slumped cowboy. He set his hand on Alfred's thigh and gently shook him. Alfred flicked his eyes open and looked down to the Brit. He swallowed hard and leaned down. He putt his hand on Arthur's shoulders to steady himself as the shorter's hand skimmed up his sides to support his weight. He managed to slide down without paining his shoulder too much.

The cowboy's legs wobbled as he touched the ground. He felt them go out from under him and slid down the Brit's chest. He'd lost more blood than he'd thought.

The shorter blond went down to his knees to level with the American and eased the other man down to his back. Alfred looked up at him through bleary, glazed blue eyes.

The Brit ran his fingers through Alfred's hair and brushed back his bangs.

"I'm going to apologize now." He said and trailed his fingers over the entrance wound on the taller's shoulder. "I'd imagine this is going to hurt."

Alfred watched him and swallowed again, he was just too tired to choke out any more words and closed his eyes, bracing himself. Arthur hesitated a moment before digging his fingers into the seeping wound, flinching as Alfred cried out in pain.

Biting his lip, the Brit dug for the deeply lodged bullet with blood-slicked fingers. He felt his stomach unsettle as the cowboy swore and gripped hard at the dark green sleeve of his suit jacket. The Brit turned his green gaze to the blood-smeared, white-knuckle grip on his arm and steeled himself. As his fingers brushed the metal, he snagged at it and tried to ease the bullet free.

Alfred gasped and his eyes rolled back, as Arthur pulled the bullet free and flung the offending metal away into the grass. The cowboy was panting hard, still gripping the Englishman's arm with a bruising vice. He sighed and pressed his other hand to Alfred's shoulder, applying pressure to stem the still bleeding wound.

The wounded man trailed his grip to Arthur's hand and squeezed to get the Brit's attention, since he didn't trust his hoarse voice. When the Brit locked eyes with him, the cowboy smiled weakly and forced his breathing even.

Arthur smirked.

"You're more trouble than you're worth, my dear brute." He muttered, shaking his head. He leaned forward and brushed his lips to Alfred's slightly trembling ones.

"Best get some sleep if you can. I don't think we're going anywhere for a bit."

The cowboy sighed, but twitched when it ended up moving his very sore and tender shoulder. He doubted he'd get much sleep, but closing his eyes and just focusing on the feeling of Arthur hovering inches above him was some ease.

It still annoyed him though: how weak he felt. It had only taken two shots to reduce him to this? Barely conscious, having someone else dig the bullet free and too weak to even thank the man trying to keep him from bleeding out. It was incredibly frustrating. The cowboy wanted to growl out his annoyance, but found it was just easier to let the dark and Arthur's hands soothe him.

He felt Arthur's lips on his own once again, before slipping unconscious.

Arthur drew back as the American went limp again and sighed. With the hand not set over Alfred's shoulder, he swept his fingers through his messy blond hair, effectively smearing the tresses with the cowboy's blood, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

The green gaze swept down to the other wound on Alfred's leg. Thankfully, that one seemed to have clotted on it's own and with a fixed look, Arthur could see it had been a shallow cut to begin with, but had bled enough to make thing worse for the American.

It pained Arthur to know that he could very well and decently stitch the shoulder wound shut if he'd had a needle and some wire, thread, anything really. That, however, was not something the Brit kept with him. He resigned himself to keep pressure on the wound; it had already started to stem but the Brit wasn't taking any chances with the American's wound.

Arthur wasn't sure just how long he hovered over Alfred, keeping constant pressure until the bleeding had stilled a bit more. The emerald-eyed man produced the penknife from his pocket and pulled the end of his dress shirt out. Uncapping the blade, he cut strips of the material free and set them aside. Satisfied with that, he recapped the knife, placing it beside the freshly shorn fabric. Carefully he wrapped and tied the strips of cloth into makeshift bandages: not too tight, but enough to keep a snug pressure against the wound.

The Brit heard the rustle of the grass and the sound of hooves behind him. He knew it couldn't be Hero, as the tired chestnut had gone down to his side and tucked his legs under to relieve the pain on his back foot.

The Englishman instantly went for the penknife by his side as he turned to see an approaching rider on a dark bay horse.

As the rider approached closer and halted the horse, Arthur could see the girlish figure dismount and slowly approach. As she came nearer, the Englishman felt his blood turn fiery with rage and he uncapped the blade. It was the same girl from the ranch house and as Arthur's thoughts turned murderous, he rationalized she looked far too much like the man who had hurt his cowboy.

"Take one more step, and you'll regret it." The Brit snarled out, flashing the penknife's blade under the moonlight. The girl halted and kept her chin down. Her eyes went to the pale, bloodied cowboy lying pressed against the armed man.

"He doesn't look well." She said softly.

"Neither will you when I'm finished, lass." Arthur growled back as he rose to his feet, twirling the blade. He stepped over Alfred and grinned manically.

"Wait! Please, I just want to help!"

"Oh, you'll help to abate my anger before I get my hands on that man you were with." He responded and kept advancing, to which the girl stepped back.

"Please, I'm sorry for my brother! I can help." She screamed, but wasn't quick enough to escape as Arthur lunged forward and grabbed her arm. He yanked her to him and laid the blade against her throat as she tried to squirm from his grasp. With a little pressure, the blade started a thin cut.

"Give me one good reason why I should listen to you plead for your doomed brother, hmm?" the murderous Brit whispered slyly into the girl's ear.

"Because I can help him." She shook, but pointed to Alfred, still lying unconscious.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and pressed the blade more firmly to her throat.

"Explain. Now, or I'll kill you where you stand." He growled his warning.

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat and shakily started.

"There's a doctor that lives in the town nearby. I can tell you where she is, but only if you promise not to hurt my brother."

Arthur grinned wider and rumbled a dark laughter.

"You're a brave lass, but I'm not here to negotiate. You'll take me to this doctor, or I assure you, I will make this _very_painful." He threatened and twisted the blade, the razor edge scraping roughly on the underside of the girl's chin. "And that is a promise."

"Please, I want to help, but don't hurt my brother."

"You'll be lucky if I let you keep your own life. I wouldn't worry about anyone else."

"Why, I-I-I just want to help?"

Arthur chuckled again and ran his fingers on the girl's cheek, smearing Al's blood on the girl's pale, perfect skin.

"Feel that?" He asked.

"T-t-the blood?"

"Mmhhmm."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, that's a problem, little lass. You see, that blood and the one to whom it belongs are very dear to me. You want to protect your brother don't you?"

The girl nodded, trembling even more as Arthur flashed a wicked grin.

"Well, I just wanted to protect him." Arthur flicked his insane gaze back to Alfred then to the girl. "And your brother stole that from me. Now, I want to make him suffer, as my cowboy has. You understand, don't you?"

"No! That's not right! You can't-"

"I can do anything I damned well please!" Arthur roared and jabbed the blade under the girl's chin, forcing her to look up at him as she whimpered.

"And, wouldn't that man just be so devastated to find his sweet little sister dead on his porch in the morning?" The Brit licked his lips in anticipation and watched in satisfaction as the blood began to dribble down the length of the blade.

"Please, don't…" The girl whimpered.

"Why not? You look so much like him too…" Arthur murmured, eyes wide and lip twitching in a grin.

"B-b-because, then he'll die too." She motioned back to Alfred again and the Brit grit his teeth. The usually bright cowboy was pale and looked destroyed, lying in the grass, bloodied and trembling faintly. Arthur felt his chest tighten in a painful reminder.

"He needs help!" The girl continued, seeing she'd found some miracle of mercy in the insane Brit's conscience. "I can bring you both to the doctor and she can help him!" The girl pleaded.

The emerald-eyed man stepped back, wrenching the blade away.

"You do that, and I'll consider sparing your life." He growled out. He motioned to the girl's horse. "Get up, and if you even consider leaving my side without my say-so until Alfred is safe, I will hunt you and your brother down and slaughter you both. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes sir, please just let me tell my brother I'll be away."

"No. You'll not tell him. You're to come with me now." Arthur said and walked back to Alfred.

"But, sir-!"

"If you wish to be one sibling short in the morning, then do so. Or if you'd prefer, I could just kill you now and spare you the trouble of burying his body later."

She shook her head and mounted up on her dark bay.

"Good lass." Arthur murmured with a bit of laughter. He knelt beside Hero who pinned his ears back and stood.

"One more time, chap. your master needs you." He said and patted the horse's flank. He looked to the girl and to the ranch house off in the distance.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. My gray mare is still back by your home somewhere. Bring her to me on a lead rope. If you aren't back by the time I'm ready to leave, I'll come find you myself, and that won't be pretty."

The girl moved to obey, turning her horse and heading back.

The emerald-eyed blond swiped the few drops of the girl's blood off onto his fingers and dabbed them on his tongue with a giggle. A part of him wished the girl wouldn't return and he'd have the thrill of getting more of that blood and the blood of her brother. Oh yes, he'd have loved to watch the man convulse and bleed to his death, but another part of him constantly watched the grass for the girl. He had to get Alfred to that doctor, or anywhere, for medical treatment.

Internally, he snarled. Everything his mother had thought to teach him, it was useless out here except for what he'd already done to stop the blood flow. It frustrated him knowing what he could do, just wasn't possible without the right tools.

He moved to kneel beside the cowboy, who had begun to stir and moaned. He brushed his fingers against Alfred's cheek as the American opened his eyes.

"Artie…" He managed to croak out. It was a relief to find enough strength to speak.

"Hush, brute. I'm going to get you help." He said and slipped his arms beneath the cowboy's shoulders and legs to lift him. Alfred leaned his head against Arthur's chest.

"Thanks…" The cowboy mumbled: voice muffled against the dress shirt.

"Shut up, Alfred." Arthur answered and kissed the taller's hair. He hoisted the cowboy up into the saddle and climbed up behind him.

Arthur set his gaze to the ranch house and in the forefront, he saw the movement of the girl on her dark bay and another horse, he assumed Cisco, beside them. He waited for the girl to approach him and sent her a pointed look.

"Lead on." The Englishman ordered and the girl gave a shaky nod, turning her horse and kicking it into a smooth walk. Arthur kicked hero gently to follow after the girl. The horse had suffered enough trauma tonight and Arthur felt the same way.

**:3 Meh, crappy chapter is crappy. I'd really rather be writing my planned Ivan scenes. Oh well~ Soon enough! :P**


	15. The Good Doctor

**American Trains**

**Chapter 15: The Good Doctor**

**Beta'd by Kay(kywyh26)**

**A/N: Hallo, hallo, hallo~ my lovely readers! I'm proud to bring you chapter 15 of American Trains with a little smidgen of possessive fluff, some scred witless Lili and our soon to be be named doctor (Kay, I want to know if you're guess was right!)!**

**Zenigami, the fact that you reviewed at all is awesome. The frequency, eh, who needs it? I appreciate any response/thought. ;)**

**Also, I chuckle at the fact that more people were concerned for Hero than Alfred! xD One got shot, one's got a cut leg. Lol. I'm guilty of it too though. It hurt to write Hero's wound, it was pure apathy when I had our Swiss gunman shoot Alfred; not once, but twice. xD**

**Skadiyoko, Oh yes, Alfie is whipped. ;) Nope, Ivan is completely sane, just very pissed and getting handsomely paid. Poor France, no one minded that I killed him either. xD**

**Ugh, I know right? The piss, poor inaccuracies... :P It's got to be the biggest turn off to reading a fanfiction that I've found. Mistakes or unavailable information are one thing, but flat out wrong? Blek!**

**Prussia awesome, huh? I'm honored! :3**

Arthur watched the girl on her dark bay mount through fierce green eyes that still blazed with hate. The longer he thought on it and the longer he felt Alfred tremble against him, the faster that anger built. It made his lips turn up in a sneer, which fanned out into a grin as he shuffled the penknife from his pocket, turning the blade over in his hand. The Brit scrapped a bit of dried blood off with his nail and admired the way it flickered under the bright moonlight. It would look so lovely against the girl's skin.

He startled when Alfred's heavy, blood-smeared and gloved hand wrapped around his wrist. Arthur looked down to meet the cowboy's hazed blue eyes. The American didn't say anything, but Arthur could see the pleading look beneath the haze of Alfred's eyes.

"Don't look at me like that." Arthur whispered low, barely audible, even to the cowboy. He merely blinked up at the Englishman.

"She deserves everything that's to come to her." Arthur continued to whisper and brought the blade against the American's cheek, carefully and, if a knife could be, gently running the blade against his skin. "Just look what they've done to you. They don't deserve your pity."

Any sane person would have been afraid. The intense, feral look in Arthur's eyes coupled with the blade he had pressed to the American's cheek and his whispered promises of murder should have made Alfred scared for his life. It didn't however, and it made Alfred wonder in his exhausted mind. What was it in him that just couldn't fear Arthur, no matter how much it should have? When had it started? With Cole's death?

The Brit pulled Alfred from his thoughts as he closed his eyes and slipped the blade back into his pocket. He tugged Alfred closer against himself and sighed.

"I'll consider sparing her, if it's a comfort." He murmured against the American's ear. His eyes flicked open to look sidelong at the man in his arms. Alfred could still see that strange glint in the Englishman's eyes, but at least his voice sounded considerate, perhaps even guilty.

The exhausted cowboy leaned his head against Arthur's and let his eyes slip shut. When had he come to feel so... Alfred's hazed mind just couldn't process a word for it. Comfortable, maybe? While his body hurt terribly and his feeling of weakness made him self-conscious, he didn't mind Arthur's arms around him: the man's breath against him, the heat of his body. The cowboy vaguely wondered just how he could feel comfortable in the arms of an unstable murderer, but he did, and that was as far as his tired mind could process in the matter of his turncoat heart.

He'd think about it later. Now though, Arthur's soft, rhythmic breathing and his own exhaustion were coaxing him to sleep. Actual, blissful sleep: not the blackness of slipping in and out of consciousness.

Once he felt the blue-eyed man go limp, Arthur looked from the sleeping American back to the girl and her horse ahead. When he did, he noted that she was looking back at them over her shoulder, and the Brit's lip curled in a teeth-baring snarl at her. She gasped and quickly faced forward again. Arthur chuckled darkly. It brought a predatory grin to his lips as the girl went rigorously tense from the malicious noise.

"How much farther?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice low as not to wake Alfred, but loud enough for the alert girl to hear. He'd noted that they'd been on the move for quite some time, as the waxing moon had started to dip and the sky was a deep navy, rather than black.

"Not much farther, sir. Just over the hill." She looked back at him and pointed at the upcoming hill with a trembling finger.

The Brit followed the line of the girl's finger to the hill. Thankfully, this one wasn't made of crumbling stones and hidden fissures, as his past experiences with hills had been. It was a softly rolling hill, covered in the same familiar grass that had been surrounding them for miles.

"It had better be." Arthur returned; his feral eyes narrowing in suspicion and the girl swallowed hard. She turned back to face forward again and kicked the horse into a faster walk with a sense of urgency.

They ascended the hill, Hero struggling on the ascent with poor footing, due to his cut back legs. Arthur patted the animal as he valiantly managed the hill and snorted. He'd have to get the American's horse to a veterinarian after he made sure Alfred was no longer in any danger.

As they came to the hilltop, Arthur could see the town below them, nestled in among other hills and dips that formed a natural barrier.

The girl halted her bay and looked pleadingly at the murderous emerald-eyed Brit. He halted Hero and flashed her a canine flickered smirk.

"Oh, absolutely not, my dear. I told you, until the doctor agrees to treat Alfred, you're not going anywhere but by my side." He said and stroked the cowboy's hair.

"Now then, find me your lady doctor. I have more pressing matters than your fate." He added and moved his hand to his pocket for the knife in silent promise.

The girl nodded and started her mount down the hill with a light kick. Hero snorted when urged down, pinning his ears in pain as he jaunted down the slope and into the town.

It was a small place, smaller than Abilene had been, but about the same size as the old cow town where Arthur had killed Francis. He smiled at the thought. Francis had deserved what had come to him, just like this girl who rode in front of them deserved to have his penknife lodged in her throat.

At this time of night, there was no one outside any of the buildings and they rode in, bloodied and suspicious, without a single mishap. Arthur preferred it that way: no questions, no looks, no witnesses.

The girl finally halted her dark bay horse in front of a small building, unmarked with any signs and only a cross nailed to the door. She looked to Arthur, who set her a dangerous look that made the girl tuck her chin in defeat.

Arthur dismounted first. His movement woke Alfred. The cowboy weakly looked around, then down to Arthur as the Brit set his hand on the American's knee and offered to help him down.

The cowboy carefully slid down from the saddle with Arthur's help and groaned, as his legs wouldn't hold his weight, forcing Arthur to support him.

"Sorry... sorry." Alfred mumbled as he leaned his weight on the shorter blond, keeping his wounded leg bent.

"Don't be." Arthur replied and helped the cowboy limp up onto the porch. He barely managed that, as the short walk threatened to send Alfred back into blackness and his vision swam.

"Not...good..." The American grunted and braced himself further against Arthur.

Suddenly, the Englishman swept his arm under Alfred's legs, swung the taller up and cradled his in his arms bridal style.

Alfred gasped weakly, cheeks tinting scarlet. The emerald-eyed blond paid that no mind and looked to the girl who'd dismounted and stood awkwardly shuffling her feet at the edge of the porch.

"The door, lass. My hands are a tad full."

She looked up at him and moved to obey, pulling the door open, and Arthur entered the dark building. He halted just inside the threshold and glanced back to the girl who'd escorted him here.

"Go and wake the good doctor, won't you?"

She nodded and bustled up the stairs. Iin a few moments the two blonds could hear the floorboards above them creak, then the sound of boots scuffling the floor until the small blond girl appeared down the stair case, followed by a proud looking woman in a pale green dress that flowed down to her ankles. Her long, pale brunette hair bobbed behind her in a graceful wave. A pair of shined brown thigh boots covered her feet. They made a heavy noise as she stepped down on to the floorboards.

The woman's forest green eyes alighted on the wounded cowboy in Arthur's arms and she spoke in a melody-like voice: very faintly accented.

"I suppose he is to be my patient?" She inquired, wide, bright eyes curious.

"Indeed he is." Arthur returned as he sized up the woman. She wore a soft, genuine smile on her lips as she stepped forward. He felt almost compelled to trust her, just by the motherly look she initially inspected Alfred with. It reminded him of his own mother.

The taller blond blinked up weakly at the doctor and smiled. Even in his muddled state, he found that he liked her instantly. She had smile lines etched in her face and bright, cheerful eyes that were deep with knowing and kindness.

The woman nodded and looked up to Arthur.

"Come. Can you carry him up the stairs?"

Arthur chuckled.

"Indeed I can. I'm stronger than I look." He responded and followed after the female doctor as she proceeded up the stairs. He had to admit though, the American was certainly heavy, and the muscles in his arms had a faint, tingling burn in them.

The Brit was grateful when the doctor ushered them into the first room at the top of the stairs. As they entered, Arthur quickly observed the room with it's few candles lit around the room. It was mostly empty except for a white-sheeted bed, a chest at the foot of said bed, a small table laid out with a white cloth and a single stool.

"Please lay him down." She said and motioned to the bed. Arthur gently set the cowboy down on the bed and gave him a quick smile before looking up. The doctor had disappeared and Arthur stood stunned for a moment. He hadn't heard her leave or even mentioning anything of it.

"Artie?"

"Will you never cease?"

Alfred tilted his head, confused. Arthur looked down at him and shook his head. The shorter touched his fingers to Alfred's forehead and brushed the cowboy's bangs back.

"You could have died, Alfred."

The American cocked an eyebrow. Just what was Arthur getting at? Sure, he could have died. But he could have died driving the cattle too. Or doing anything for that matter. Why bring up the obvious, if painful, fact of life now?

"More importantly-" The Brit chuckled to himself and smiled down at the blue-eyed cowboy, who was still confused. "I could have lost you."

Alfred felt a lump in his throat form up, choking off any reasonable attempt to speak.

"And losing you is just something I'm not sure I could rationally deal with."

"Ya ain't...very...rational, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred finally breathed out.

"I suppose. That's beside the point though." The Brit leaned down and kissed the American's dry lips. He felt his heart fluttered wildly through his chest as he felt the cowboy kiss him in return. Arthur drew out the moment as long as he possibly could, lacing his fingers into Alfred's hair before withdrawing and laughing softly. Alfred grinned back up at him.

"Whatever you bloody do, American, just don't ever fucking die prematurely, understand? I think I'd be lonely without you."

Before Alfred could muster up his response, the female doctor returned with a bowl of warm water, towels draped over her arms, thread and stitching needle and various other metal instruments tucked neatly in a leather pouch.

She laid everything out on the table, dragged it and the stool to the bedside. She settled herself on the stool, and smoothed her dress down. The doctor met the shorter blond's emerald eyes and motioned to the door.

"You may want to leave, sir. Hopefully this shouldn't take long. I promise you, he is in good hands. Oh, and I also sent little Lili away as well."

Arthur, despite having not heard the request to leave during operations, no matter how minor, for years, knew better than to argue with a medical expert's request in the case of loved ones. Things typically went sour if that were occur, but what did that last information mean... unless?

"Lili? The young lass?"

"Yes."

Arthur growled under his breath and felt his anger flare. However, Alfred's condition was more important. He'd have to deal with it later.

He moved to leave, but found Alfred's gloved hand on his arm. The cowboy, however, was looking to the doctor.

"Can't... he stay...Miss-?" Alfred stumbled. The doctor hadn't announced her name.

The woman gave an apologetic shrug.

"You may call me Elizaveta Héderváry, though friends call me Elise. I don't mind if you do as well." She looked up at Arthur, and the strange expression he wore. A mix of simmering anger, concern and an odd tenderness directed at the bloody cowboy. She shrugged again.

"And I suppose he may stay. Provided that you-" He gave a pointed look to Arthur, "don't interrupt or get in my way."

"I won't, dear lady, I assure you. I might even be of some use."

"Oh?" Elise's eyes glimmered with curiosity.

"My mother was a nurse. She taught me a few things."

"Excellent! I could always use an extra set of hands." She moved to dip one of the smaller towels into the water bowl.

"Now then, let's see what we're working with and patch you up, dearie." She said and smiled down at Alfred.

**Such a short, odd-ball chapter! :P I decided to spare Lili, as I'm not a fan of killing children (even if they are fictional ages old personified nations trapped in my agonizing universe). Ol' Swissy boy might not be so lucky in the future though... maybe, depends on much expansion I can manage. )**

**btw, like spies? Like love/hate USUK coupled with spy agency conspiracies and evil bad guys? Yes? Good! You should totally read my just started spy fic, Risico! :D *Shamelessselfpromotion***


	16. Recovery

**American Trains**

**Chapter 16: Recovery**

****Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)****

**This is officially my 'torture Arthur' chapter. I sort of felt bad writing this, so I apologize. ;) Anyway~ Maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to update Risico today too(probably not) if I manage to avoid any distractions (unlikely, but I will try for you all)! It should be steamy goodness! :DDD**

**On to Reviews,**

**Skadiyoko: I have no clue what you mean *innocent face* :3 But I actually considered China for the doctor before I gave the role to Hungary. She seems more the doctor-y type for this.**

**Zenigami: China would have made a decent choice for the doctor with all the medicinal oddities going on during this time period. Asian home medicines were popular along with some other very strange things like 'gland' surgery, homemade painkillers and all sorts of other crazy stuff.**

**Renuki: Artie would never kill his cowboy! :3**

**Kay: Yeah, I think a good guy like Alfie would draw the line at murdering innocent children. Cole and Francis may have had it coming, but poor Lili just wanted to help.**

**Lawliette93: I always pull for the bad guys in everything. Movies, video games, books. It happens every time. xD Evil is good! :P**

Elise set about soaking the rags in the warm water and steeping the needle and wire. She looked to Arthur and motioned to Alfred, who watched with tired curiosity.

"Help him out of his shirt." She ordered in her melodic voice. Arthur helped the cowboy undo the buttons on his shirt, seeing as how the American didn't want to move his injured shoulder; it would have left him awkwardly trying to do the job one handed. The Brit nudged Alfred's clumsy, gloved hand away and undid the buttons for him.

Arthur slipped his hand beneath Alfred's back to help him out of the long-sleeved shirt. Alfred winced, having to twist his shoulder awkwardly to let Arthur peel the bloodstained area from his skin.

He allowed Alfred to slip back down onto the bed with a tired sigh. The Brit brushed his knuckles down the cowboy's ribs in silent reassurance and looked up as the doctor handed him the warm rag. He took it and dabbed the bloodied wound to clean up the scarlet liquid.

His trained, toxic green eyes examined the entrance wound. It was definitely ugly, and Arthur, having fished for the bullet by hand, had stretched it some, though it still looked manageable.

"I managed to extract the bullet just after he was shot." Arthur informed the doctor and she nodded. She accepted the bloodied rag from Arthur and set it aside.

Threading the needle, she leaned forward and pressed the point to the cleaned edge of Alfred's wound and began to stitch the wound. The cowboy winced and gritted his teeth at the sharp sting and foreign tugging sensation through his skin.

The woman worked quickly and expertly as Arthur watched over the American, looking as if to guard him from some unknown threat. Even though the doctor was kind and excellent, that dark voice in his mind warned him of everyone: of anything that could hurt his cowboy.

Arthur's gaze flicked to the lady doctor's hands that hovered and twirled over the gaping wound. Within minutes, she'd finished the stitching and tugged at the wire's tie to ensure it had been done right and smiled.

"That should do it, dearie." She announced as she dabbed away some of the excess blood still dribbling from the wound. Elise's eyes flicked to Arthur and she motioned for him to help Alfred sit up.

The emerald-eyed Brit perched on the edge of the bed beside Alfred and braced him up with a steady hand on his lower back.

Elise drew out a long strip of the brilliant white bandages. She tapered the end over the stitching and wrapped Alfred's shoulder until an even layer of padding securely hid the wound in white. She tucked the cut end and pressed to ensure the tightness before setting everything aside and clapping her hands into her lap.

Alfred rolled the tight was still painful, but feeling better, though it also might have to do with soothing way Arthur was rubbing slow circles on his back. The cowboy felt exhaustion tugging at him and he yawned.

Elise chuckled as she rose and collected her tools of the trade.

"Get some sleep. You're going to need to stay off your feet for at least two days. Seeing how pallid you look, I'd say you've lost a large amount of blood."

She glanced at Arthur, eyes alighting to the brutal amount of blood that stained his shredded dress shirt and suit jacket. Her forest green gaze switched back to Alfred, who didn't look thrilled by the prospect of being laid up in bed for two days.

She gave him a stern, pointed look and once more glanced to Arthur.

"I do hope that my assistant will make sure of that."

"Indeed I shall." He responded and smirked when the cowboy practically pouted.

The lady doctor walked to the door and beckoned Arthur to follow her.

"May I have a word with you, sir?"

Arthur nodded and looked down to Alfred, easing the cowboy to lay down and gave him a pointed glare to match Elise.

"Stay put, dear brute." He ordered. Alfred could do nothing but sigh and obey, letting his eyes slip shut to try to get some sleep. It didn't take much. By the time Arthur had risen, and walked to Elise's side, the American was already breathing slow and even.

They stepped out and Elise shut the door silently behind them. She set her tools away in the room across and walked down the long hallway with Arthur trailing her until they came to the door set at the very end of the hall.

"Please, take a seat." She directed after ushering the Englishman in to what he presumed to be Elise's actual bedroom. The Brit drew up a chair from the corner table in the room and dragged it to the edge of the bed where the lady doctor had perched herself. He sat himself down, crossed his leg over his knee and looked to Elise, curiosity brightening his already intense green eyes.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

"You may. It's Arthur Kirkland."

"I thought as much." She responded and sighed heavily.

That certainly piqued Arthur's curiosity, and he knit his brows together in confusion.

"Care to explain?"

"Mr. Kirkland, that's not your companion's blood, is it?" She said and plucked the edge of the blood-stiffened shirt with two fingers. Arthur blanched, and his defenses flew up.

"And if you're right?" He inquired in a low, warning tone, his hand slipping to his pocket where the familiar metal of his penknife brushed his fingertips.

"Are you going to kill me?" Elise asked with her head tilted, not a drop of fear present in her. Arthur had to admit it; he admired that fearlessness, but not enough to spare the woman if she didn't explain herself.

"That depends. What do you know of me?"

"I know you are a wanted man, across the Atlantic, as well as here."

"And how, pray tell, do you know that?" He asked and slipped the penknife into view.

"You only just confirmed it, sir." The doctor said and smiled, to which Arthur growled. How had this woman known? His mind raced with thoughts, horrid scenarios of just what was to come. Elise continued then:

"A very tall man with pale hair passed through here just last night. He asked a few of the townsfolk, andmyself if we'd seen a man matching your description, named 'Kirkland.' Of course at that point, none here had seen you."

"Until now." Arthur snarled low and uncapped the knife. "I don't like having witnesses." His voice was brimming with promised threats. Outwardly, he looked cold and calculated, but inside, his chest was tightened in panic and his mind whirled.

_Kill her! No one can know after Alfred! Noone!_

"I'm not going to turn you in." Elise said simply, leaning back slightly.

"You can't prove that."

"You're right. I can't. You can only either take my word for it, or kill me."

"The latter is far more reassuring." Arthur responded and rose from the chair. He purposefully walked up to her and glared down to meet her eyes. Emerald locked to emerald and the woman smiled.

"You owe me." She said, and Arthur went rigid. What could that possibly mean? Was she stalling?

_Kill __her! __Now!_

"I'll give you a chance to explain yourself before I end you, dear doctor." He placed the blade's edge to Elise's throat, but the woman didn't flinch.

"I saw the way you looked at the cowboy."

Arthur growled, in his own worry for Alfred, he hadn't even thought of the doctor as a witness to his affections for the blue-eyed American. He inwardly loathed himself. How could he have been so careless?

"You love him, don't you, Kirkland?" Arthur snarled and pressed the blade harder to Elise's throat, drawing a thin scarlet line. "You can't lie to me, I saw you kiss him."

"Shut up! What do you know!" He roared, anger punctuating his words.

"Arthur, calm yourself. It isn't my job to judge, only to heal. I leave that to the HeavenlyFather."

"A pity he won't save you." Arthur growled in return and moved to slash her throat, but found himself hesitant. _What's __wrong __with __me?_

_What __are __you __doing? __Kill __her! __End __this! _The voice howled.

"What will you do, Arthur? Continue to run away, mercilessly dragging the boy with you? Is that what you want for him?" Elise inquired boldly and set her hand on Arthur's wrist.

"No." The Brit choked out, feeling his raging, mixed emotions whirling and threatening to send him over the edge as they thrashed about inside him. With a frustrated growl, Arthur stepped back and walked to the single window in the room, overlooking the town. The sky was lightening and he felt the voice hide away inside his mind.

The lady doctor touched her fingers to the very slight wound on her throat, but kept her eyes trained on Arthur. The emerald-eyed blond could feel the woman's eyes boring into his polluted soul.

"The tall man. He said his name was Ivan. Did you know he was looking for you?"

"Yes, I…" Arthur sighed. "I met him in London, and I knew he'd followed me to France. I thought I'd lost him when I traversed the Atlantic. How he found me here, I still don't know."

"You've been running a long time, haven't you?"

"Indeed I have."

"With the cowboy?"

"His name is Alfred, and no. I only met him a few nights ago."

"Interesting."

"How so?"

"He acts as if he's known you an eternity. The way he trusts you."

Arthur narrowed his eyes and glanced over his shoulder at the doctor.

"How-"

"It's my job to know the people I treat, Arthur. If I couldn't read people, I couldn't help them. The boy would follow you to the ends of the Earth if you asked him, I'll bet."

Arthur felt his stomach knot up. He knew Alfred had a tendency for obedience when it came to himself, but still… would he really? That was foolish to think otherwise. Of course Alfred would, and it made the Brit's heart clench painfully. Damn the woman for bringing this up. He couldn't take another blow to his heart like this.

"I don't know why you have done the things you've done, but I see a troubled man in you."

Arthur rumbled bitter laughter and shook his head.

"Troubled? I suppose you could say that. My afflictions have no cure, dear doctor." Arthur said and turned on his heel to face her, the blade still in hand. "And I don't enjoy the fact that you know them."

"Then kill me."

"I can't. As you said, I owe you. I'll spare your life, for sparing Alfred's. I warn you though, I don't forgive and my reprimands are unpleasant, to say the least. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Am I clear?" The Brit felt like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders and it suddenly reminded him he hadn't slept at all tonight.

Elise laughed softly.

"Crystal clear, dearie."

The emerald-eyed man resigned with a sigh, recapped the blade and stowed it back in his pocket. He walked to the end of the room and paused at the door.

"Is there anything you'd advise I do for Alfred before I find myself a place to sleep."

"Getting him a bottle of whiskey to take the edge off the pain might be a thoughtful gesture. Just give him a shot or two to numb him. I don't want him drunk."

Arthur nodded and exited the room, silently shutting the door behind him and walking back to the room he'd left the sleeping cowboy. As the Englishman sat on the bedside, he couldn't help but smile lightly.

"Looks as if the secret's out, my sweet brute. I just don't know what to do now." He murmured and caressed the taller blonde's cheek. Arthur swallowed hard before leaning forward and clasping his hands together. He really didn't know what to do now.

So Ivan was still searching for him? It would explain the creepy feeling of being watched back at the river, if Ivan had been in town so close to their own visit.

_I __never __thought __you'd __follow __me __an __ocean __away, __chap._

Before he could lose himself in his thoughts, the Brit forced himself to his feet and bid the sleeping American a quietly whispered farewell, promising to return shortly. He needed to walk, to move, to get away for a moment, or he'd never find a way to settle his mind so he could sleep.

It was still mostly dark out, so getting Hero to the town's veterinarian was out of the question; he'd have to settle on just getting the makeshift pain relief from the saloon at the town's other end.

He patted the horse as he left, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes downcast as he walked. The emerald-eyed blond lost himself in his troublesome thoughts again, until he noticed he stood in front of the saloon.

The Brit walked in, surprised to find a good number of people still drinking and playing Faro. He buttoned up the suit, hoping that the low lighting, darkness of his suit and the general drunkenness of the occupants would hide most of the blood.

Arthur walked up to the bar, and garnered the barman's attention.

"Do you sell by the bottle, sir?" Arthur inquired, and the man raised his bushy eyebrows.

"Not usually, son, but if ya got the money, I might make an exception."

The Brit smirked and produced a large sum of cash, slyly handing it over the bar. The barman grinned and tucked the money away.

"That'll do. Whatcha lookin' for?"

"Whiskey, your best."

"I'll be right back then." The barman said and slipped into the storage room behind the bar. He came back moments later with the glass bottle in hand. He set it down on the counter and just as the Englishman reached for it, something very heavy crashed into him.

Arthur found himself falling back, as one of the drunken men in the bar had tripped, and consequently knocked into the Brit. Caught off guard, Arthur didn't have the time to catch himself and crashed back into one of the green, oval Faro tables.

The rickety old table didn't take kindly to the emerald-eyed man ungracefully falling onto it. One of the legs caved, sending money, cards and betting chips flying everywhere.

A general uproar went up, and all the men surrounding the table rose, some in confusion, some in anger, some relieved for having been able to pull out of some bad bets. Violence took over then, as one of the men grabbed an empty glass and dove at Arthur in drunken fury.

The Brit barely had enough time to get to his feet and duck as the man missed and smashed the heavy glass on one of the confused Faro player's head, effectively knocking him out cold and the entire drunken atmosphere turned to violence instantly. The man who had tried, and failed to assault Arthur, was grabbed and fought off his captors, causing more injuries. The place erupted into chaos with punches and glasses being thrown wildly; shouts and swears echoing in a deafening roar.

Arthur thought in panic just how had everything had gone so wrong in the span of one night, as he dodged a sluggish punch aimed at his jaw.

**"Faro? What the hell is that?" You might be asking.**

**Contrary to popular belief, poker was NOT the most popular card game in the West. Faro was. The game is played on green, oval tables with any number of players, and a single deck. The game is played by betting for the dealer or for the players. You guess what card will be drawn from the dealer's deck after each side picks a suit. Your odds are (in a fair game) always 50-50 with a payout of 1-1. It's a pretty simple game but it had so many easy ways to cheat it became the most manipulative and crooked thing in the west. Loaded dealer's boxes, pulling coppers (coins used to reverse your bet), extra slots on dealers boxes so they could count cards... yeah, it got to be the game was so intense it was supposedly what drove some men insane. :D**

**Did you know Wyatt Earp was a well known Faro dealer? He claimed he could make 25 dollars a night just dealing and winning (that's an entire month's salary for a well paid cowboy) back in the day.**

**Isn't the west just great?**


	17. Debts

**American Trains**

**Chapter 17: Debts**

**Beta'd by Kay (kywyh26)**

**A/N: *Grins* Hi again peeps! Welcome back, and I'm proud to bring you chapter 17 introducing some Hetalia favorites. ) Teehee.**

**Reviews:**

**Skadiyoko: I could see Hungary being a closest yaoi fangirl, for sure. xDDDD**

**Kay: You're close, I planned on having Gilbert in this fic if it killed me or not. :P**

**Good Evening: I'm not offended at all. I'm glad people enjoy the history, I know I do! I like the tension I have between them. I think it works better for their clashing personalities. Alfred's shy towards Arthur and the Brit is much more forward with him than anyone else. ;) I do believe the general fangirl census follows the opposite of your pattern though. ;)**

**Renuki: With Arthur, it never ends well for someone. xD**

**Trumpet-Geek: You just shot up the awesome scale for using 'methinks.' Dead Serious.**

**Inkaugneato: I've always tried to type quickly as I do everything else (I'm extremely impatient). IDK what my word count per minute is but it's pretty up there. ;)**

**Starlite-decay: Nyaaaa~ Really? :DDDDD Do you have the same name on DA (or even have a DA account for that matter)? I'm so gonna watch you (don't take that in a creeper like fashion, though, lol)!**

**alguien22792: Drama for the win!**

**Just a thought...**

**This is how I always imagined Arthur's penknife, you know, just older, and not so shiny looking. :P**

**http: /www. roseguardian. com/images/penknife_black. jpg (all credit to the manufacturer/photographer)**

**Without further delay...**

Arthur scrambled out away from a pair of very pissed off cowboys throwing hammering punches at each other. The ran into another table, wincing as he heard more glass shatter as some glasses slipped off from the sudden jerk.

Cold tobacco whiskey drenched his shoulder as a drunk was tossed around in the sea of violence: the liquor having sloshed from the glass in his hand. Arthur growled and kicked the man's kneecap in, causing him to go down with a pained scream.

_Damn __it __all, __damn __it __all __to __some __awful __bleeding __Hell. _The Brit thought bitterly and tried to worm his way out of the crowd. He was met with more resistance than he thought and ended up catching a vicious blow to the ribs that doubled him over in pain.

Arthur was forced back and leaned on one of the few not-broken tables left in saloon. He watched through narrowed eyes as a man hit the table and rolled clean over it, landing with a solid thump, before stumbling back to his feet for another round of wildly thrown punches.

The Englishman was jerked back as an arm circled around and barred his throat. He sputtered out a choked gasp as the man who'd grabbed him squeezed hard on his windpipe, dragging him off his feet. Instinctually, he tucked his chin to try and keep his airways free. Arthur savagely sunk his teeth into the man's arm and bounced on his feet as the startled man dropped him.

Arthur spit, having drawn blood from the animalistic bite. His furious attacker recovered and rushed the Brit again. The emerald-eyed blond stepped back, but in all the confusion and shoving, found himself with his back smashing into the wall.

The attacker's fist connected painfully to Arthur's jaw, making his vision blur and ringing to buzz in his ears. The Englishman could taste the irony tang of his own blood lacing onto his tongue from the vicious hit.

His hand slipped to his pocket as another fist hammered his cheek, striking his head against the unforgiving wall. Just as he managed to slip the blade from his pocket, another fist stuck his gut, causing the styled weapon to slip from his grasp, clattering uselessly to the floor.

Arthur slumped to floor in pain and dizziness. Seeping heat dribbled down his neck, and the Brit was vaguely aware that he was bleeding from where his head had struck the wall.

What really mattered though was that the punches stopped. Arthur reached for the knife at his feet and uncapped the blade. His blurred vision scanned the room, searching for the attacker. He'd show him, make sure he learned the consequences of attacking the emerald-eyed Brit.

Arthur snarled when he spotted the cowboy, who appeared to be struggling with a pale man in the dark vested attire of the saloon's Faro dealers.

Arthur hazily dragged himself to his feet, squinting and trying to peer past his bleared vision. The pale man didn't seem to be winning against the much larger, and much more aggressive man that had once been attacking him, though he was putting up an impressive fight.

The Brit, finally stable on his feet, pushed off the wall and lunged for the drunken attacker, pulling him from the pale dealer. As the man whirled around and exposed his unprotected gut, he spelled his own doom. The Brit smirked devilishly before he plunged the blade hilt deep into the man's gut.

The man stood stunned and screamed in pain as Arthur twisted the blade for good measure before wrenching it free of the attacker's yielding flesh. The man stumbled back, collapsing to the ground, still gripping the gruesome wound.

If Arthur remembered his mother's anatomy teachings correctly, he was fairly certain he'd just torn a few fatal rips into the man's intestines. H smiled darkly as the man sank to the floor: the wound openly weeping his crimson life away.

His victorious grin didn't last long as the loud crack of a revolver firing into the air shattered his triumph. The fighting slowly died to a halt as weary, drunken faces turned to the gun wielder.

Arthur loosed a feral growl under his breath. Now that the fighting had stopped, it was rather obvious about the dying man on the floor. No one seemed to turn to look though, at least not yet as the gunman's authoritative voice echoed out.

"Enough! This is vay out of hand! I vill not tolerate this in my town!" The tall, blond gun wielder bellowed. "Who started this?"

Naturally, accusing glares alighted to the scowling Brit with the bloodied penknife clenched tightly in his hand.

The obvious lawman of the town stepped forward. He twirled the revolver in hand, keeping hold of the barrel and his finger blocking the trigger. Well, at least it meant he didn't intend to have to shoot Arthur, even if it meant the Brit's planned attempt to snatch the gun would be futile.

The man stopped just in front of the emerald-eyed blond and glared down at him. The Brit noted he was just about Alfred's height, perhaps a bit taller and he had the same glass blue eyes. While Alfred's were warm and friendly, this man's were stern and disciplined.

"You are the cause of this mess?" He asked in his heavy voice.

Arthur didn't answer. He merely matched the man's glare, and from his left, he heard the pale Faro dealer snicker strangely.

The lawman sighed heavily, grabbed Arthur's arm with enough force to bruise and tugged.

"You vill come with me. The jail vill be your quarters until I determine vhat to do vith you and this mess you've created." He ordered and naturally, the upset Brit struggled against him. His resistance was met with the butt end of the revolver smashing against his head and knocking him unconscious.

As the shorter blond went limp, the blade slipped from his hand, striking the floor. The lawman brought the limp Brit over his shoulder and holstered his gun back on his belt before heading to the saloon door. A path cleared for him as the startled saloon attendants realized that getting in the broad lawman's way wasn't in their best interests.

The Faro dealer snickered before picking up the fallen knife, tucking it into his vest pocket. He followed after the lawman with a pointed glare at the gawking patrons who'd truly invoked the fight.

"Hey! West! I'm comin' with you!" He called and caught up to the lawman's long-legged strides.

"Vhat for?"

"I owe your newest friend there a debt."

"You never pay your debts." The lawman stated bluntly. The dealer giggled that strange laugh again.

"Fellow there just pulled me out of most of my debts."

"He started a fight. He's not going to be released just because he unintentionally did you a favor."

"He killed a man too."

"Vhat?" The lawman looked over his shoulder at the crimson-eyed man behind him.

"Yes sir, he did! Killed the man trying to beat me into my own table."

"Now I certainly von't release him, brother." The lawman narrowed his eyes, ensuring a stern glare at the smaller man.

"We'll see." The albino whispered slyly under his breath as they reached the jail. He watched his younger brother slip the old iron handcuffs on the unconscious Brit and leave him propped against the far wall of one of the two jail cells in the small building.

"Vatch him. Inform him of his present situation if he vakes up. I think I may have hit him a bit too hard." The lawman ordered and tossed his older brother the silver twist key.

"Remember vhat I said, brother. Don't let him out and I don't care for your reasons. I'm going to bed. I assume you vill be fine, considering you slept the day avay."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Go to sleep, West."

The lawman sighed and vanished behind the alcove: not sure if trusting his sly brother was a good idea, but too tired to care.

The pale dealer didn't have to wait long before the Brit groaned and slowly came to consciousness.

Arthur moaned, his head hurt miserably and the feeling of the cold metal clasping his wrists wasn't what he wanted to wake to. He'd much rather have been back at the doctor's home, watching over his cowboy. That reminded him, how long had he been out? Would Alfred be awake yet, wondering about him?

That odd snickering filled the echoing walls of the jail, and Arthur blearily looked up, blinking to clear his vision.

"Kesesese…You woke up pretty quick. That's impressive, considering just how hard West hit you."

"West?" Arthur groaned. "Where the bloody Hell am I?" He grumbled and looked around.

"West, err, Ludwig, y'know, the town's lawman? He just so happens to be my brother too, but that's another story." The albino leaned against the outside bars of the cell.

"You…" Arthur paused and cleared his hazy thoughts. "You were one of the Faro dealers at the saloon, weren't you?"

"Yes sir. Name's Gilbert, but you can call me Gil if it pleases ya." He said with a mocking bow and grinned. "You just so happen to be in jail, to answer your other question."

"A prison." Arthur simply stated and tugged against the restraints on his wrists. That explained that.

"That was pretty ballsy of you back at the saloon. You sure saved my ass when you stabbed that rowdy cowboy."

"Good for you." Arthur spit back. He wasn't in the mood to talk, especially not with the brother of the man who'd put him here.

"Someone's sore." Gilbert snickered and peered down at the caged man from the safety of the right side of the bars.

"Fuck off. I'm not in the mood." Arthur dismissed.

"You'd change your tune if you knew I could spring you outta here."

Arthur cocked a thick brow curiously.

"Go on." He ordered, tilting his chin, and the albino grinned wider.

"The cowboy you stabbed, he was costing me money. I'm a business man as well a gambling one, and he was makin' both difficult for me."

"How so?" Arthur prodded and started to wrestle his wrists against the restraints behind his back.

"Some bounty hunter ass rolled into town the other day. He came into my saloon and started asking around for some fellow. 'Arthur Kirkland,' or something like that. I didn't know anything but he kept badgering patrons and eventually, the men gambling at my table.

"He was probably just bitter from not catchin' his man, but he watched me like a hawk and started callin' me out!"

"You cheat, he catches you, big deal. What's it to do with me?" Arthur inquired, feeling a nervous tingle creep into his stomach. Ivan. It had to be Ivan that the Faro dealer was talking about.

"Bastard wasn't even betting! He called every card I slipped and the cowboys started getting angry and weren't betting anymore. Anyway, word got around that Gilbert was a cheating dealer and I lost so much money in that one night it was frightening.

"That cowboy you killed, just before the fight, he was wringing me dry of money, calling my cards after that damned bounty hunter told him my tricks from earlier.

"Now that he's dead-" Gilbert leaned back and clapped his hands together with a smug grin. "I'm debt free again, thanks to you! So I'm willin' to do you a favor and spring ya."

Gilbert jingled the silver twist keys in front of the bars before he tossed them into the cell.

Arthur barked a bit of laughter and brought his freed wrists forward to flaunt the fact he'd managed to slip out of the cuffs without the screw key.

The albino went wide-eyed for a moment and snickered.

"Impressive. How'd you do it?"

"I compressed my hands and slipped right out." The Brit stated bluntly and rubbed his sore wrists. He snatched the keys from the ground, walked up to the bars and curled his arms between and around them to insert one of the keys and turned the lock.

The Brit waltzed from the cell and shut the barred door behind him before looking to Gilbert.

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't need your help." Arthur dismissed, but paused at the alcove door.

"Gilbert?"

"Huh?"

"Did you happen to see a penknife in the saloon?"

Gilbert smirked and fished the knife from his vest pocket.

"You mean like this one?" He asked, holding it palm extended. Arthur walked up and reached for it, but the albino snatched his hand away and a mischievous sparkle shimmered in his crimson eyes.

The emerald-eyed blond sneered.

"Hand it over."

"I gotta question for ya first. Answer it, and I'll give it back."

"No. You'll give it now or-"

"Or what? All I got to do is yell and West will come runnin' and you'll be a dead man."

Arthur growled.

"Fine. What's your barmy question already?"

"What's your name?"

The Brit swallowed hard, the same tingling nervousness in his gut amplifying. When Arthur didn't answer immediately, Gilbert piped up.

"It wouldn't happen to be Arthur Kirkland, would it?" He inquired slyly. Arthur visibly tensed.

"It is." He finally resigned and stretched his hand out. "Now give me my blasted knife already."

"I knew it!" Gilbert exclaimed and handed the Brit his knife. "That bounty hunter had your description nailed to the letter. That's pretty rare. I figured it meant he was after some big fish. I excepted someone a bit more tough." The Faro dealer laughed raucously.

"Watch your tongue, dealer, I could very well cut your throat before you had a chance to call for your brother." Arthur warned low, his eyes narrowing.

Gilbert shrugged off the threat.

"You know you ain't safe here. That bounty hunter is bound to be back."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, considering you just killed a man in cold blood and ya got yourself pulled in by a lawman, he's gonna know or hear something's up and come riding back."

Arthur blanched. No. This couldn't be happening. How had he gotten so sloppy and careless yet again? It was like France all over again, where he'd never had a moment's breathing room.

"Ya look like you've seen a ghost." Gilbert stated, tilting his head.

"Maybe my own…." He murmured then shook himself from the despairing stupor. "If you'll excuse me, Gilbert. I need to leave."

"I still owe you." The albino reminded as he followed Arthur out of the jailhouse.

"You can pay your debt by leaving me alone." The Brit retorted.

"I got a better idea. As I said, Arthur, I'm a gambling man, and I'm willing to bet on you."

"Explain yourself, and do it quickly. I have places to be." He stated, but his curiosity really was insatiable.

"Like where?"

"None of your concern." The blond returned, and started to walk away again.

"You're going the wrong way if you're fixin' to leave town." Gilbert stated with a smug grin and crossed his arms before his chest. "That way's to Dr. Hedervary's house."

Arthur ground his teeth in frustration.

"Whatever you want, get on with it!"

"I got a bone to pick with that bounty hunter for ruining business. If you haven't left town yet, then you ain't gonna get away. I'm willing to hide ya out."

Arthur felt as if his mind was mutinously whirling about. Excitement, distrust, worry, pain, it all crushed together stressfully on the Brit.

"My brother and I own a ranch just outside of town just beside the rail spur. I could hide you there until the hunter passes through and's long gone."

"You'd do so, earnestly?" Arthur inquired, suspicious of the offer.

"I owe you a debt. It may be the only one I ever pay, but I'm willin' to pay it now."

Arthur smirked.

"Then, Gilbert, _I_have a question for _you_."

"Shoot."

"Would you be willing to shelter one other?"

The albino cocked a brow.

"I don't see why not."

"Perfect. I have some things to do and my companion to collect. Where shall I meet you?"

"Well you was headin' towards the doctor's home anyway, guess I'll meet you there."

"You might as well follow me then."

Gilbert shrugged, and the two criminals started the trek to the lady doctor's home.

**So Ludwig bashing Artie over the head withe revolver? Another Wyatt Earp tribute... sort of, he was most famous for it, but it was used all over by lawmen. Basically there are two ways to pistol whip someone. The first is the more painful method of smacking someone with the business end of the gun. Anyone trained though could easily turn that against you and grab the barrel and snatch the gun away.**

**Wyatt Earp was a smart fellow when it came to staying alive (well up until he sort of went revenge crazy towards the end of his career when his brothers were killed, but that's a whole other story). The smartest way to pistol whip someone is to hold the revolver by the barrel against the chamber, hold the hammer and to keep your finger blocking the trigger and to strike with the butt end of the gun. Not only is it nearly impossible to snatch the gun, it can't discharge either since the chamber can't spin, the hammer can't drop or chamber a round and the trigger is blocked.**

**So now you know~!**

**Also, Artie slipping out the handcuffs? How do you think Billy the Kid escaped his multiple captures, huh?**

**There was a huge, fatal flaw to handcuffs back in the day. They were one-size-fits-all. If you have small wrists, you could slip right out, if you have thick wrists they wouldn't fit on. Also they weren't key locked back then, it was a screw that had to be turned quite a bit before it locked. Try putting that on an uncooperative law-breaker...yeah half the time they weren't even used. Lol**

**Our recognized cuffs of today were invented 1862, however the West really wasn't up to date on law or its technology advances. Their were no police forces in the West. The town hired local lawmen to keep people under control. You know arrest horse thieves, break up fights, keep the cowboys happy. All that. ;)**

**You were lucky if you had a lawman instead of the normal vigilante group. They usually weren't very nice. :P**


	18. Fugitives

**American Trains**

**Chapter 18: Fugitives**

**Beta'd by Kay (ykwyh26)**

**A/N: Meh, lame-ish chapter. Not much to say, other than Ivan's coming soon. *evil grin* How soon, I'm still working on and in what way, that too, but soon nonetheless. ;)**

**Kay: You are very welcome *bows* I'm glad I could bring you and all the other Gilbert fans the cheating dealer. ;) It shouldn't be your last guess, I do plan on bringing in a few more characters. You're guess on Roderich is right. I did plan on putting him here, I just decided on Gil and Ludwig first. ;)**

**I fixed that little mistake with the 'their' and 'there.' Thanks.**

**Inkaugneato: Of course I respond! :D Without reviewers and readers, I mean the story would be pointless. I can dream this stuff up all day, writing and sharing it is more fun though. ;) Yes, it would quite literally kill me. I'd die of lack of sleep. :P**

**Trumpet-Geek: Lucky! I tried going as Punk!England to Metrocon but my ride and companion ended up not being able to go. :( Yes, Artie's awesome, isn't he?**

**artfan: *bows* I do try!**

**Lawliette93: Oh yes, Ludwig is not happy at all. Hahaha.**

**Renuki: They'll just have to learn not mess with Artie. :3**

Alfred woke to sharp pain rippling from his shoulder. He slipped in a deep breath to try and ease the tension in the ripped muscles around his wound. He loosed the breath in a heavy sigh and experimentally prodded the tender area. It was sore, but the sudden sharp pain was starting to dull into a manageable ache now.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" Came the doctor's melodic voice from his left. Alfred turned his head to see Elise perched on her stool at his bedside. She worked meticulously with a needle and line, mending a worn patch in a summery yellow dress.

"No, ma'am." Alfred responded, voice hoarse and he attempted to roughly clear it. "My shoulder did it."

"I see. Your friend went to fetch something for that, though it's been a long while since he left."

The doctor smiled and shook her head slightly at Alfred's disappointed and concerned look.

"Are you worried about him?" She inquired, returning to her needlework.

While Alfred was a bit concerned for Arthur's sake, he was almost more worried about the people around Arthur. He'd learned very quickly that leaving the Brit alone, when he was worried or upset or maybe at any time, could be fatal for those involved.

"A bit, ma'am." Alfred murmured, looking to the door, hoping Arthur would walk in if perhaps he wished hard enough. Of course that didn't happen and the cowboy turned his blue gaze to the doctor.

With a pained grunt, Alfred managed to sit up, only jostling his shoulder slightly. Elise gave him a stern look, one that obviously meant Alfred should lie back down. The American, however, never one to sit around and do nothing in his worry, matched the lady doctor's look with a plea.

"He tell ya where he was fixin' to go?" Alfred inquired when the doctor waved off his look.

"No, not specifically. My guess would be to one of the saloons across town."

The cowboy sighed, thoughts drifting in all directions, but none quite focusing long enough to be of any distraction or reassurance. He blamed the haze on the blood loss.

"Alfred, may I ask you something?" Elise inquired.

The cowboy shrugged his good shoulder and awaited her query. He vaguely wondered how the doctor knew his name, since he didn't recall telling her. Perhaps Arthur had told her?

"What's between yourself and Arthur?"

The American felt his cheeks heat with a blush. He nervously wrung his hands in his lap and averted answering her. Was it really that obvious?

"He told me already, you know." Elise said with a chuckle, keeping her sights to her work.

The cowboy felt as if his entire face and neck were aglow with his embarrassment. Would Arthur really have told her? After what they went through with Cole? No. He couldn't have. But then again...

"Then why ya askin' me, ma'am?" The cowboy choked out, trying to keep his voice even.

"Perhaps I'm only worrying for you. I'm sure you know of the man's deeds, am I correct?"

Alfred nodded slowly and felt his hazed mind try to come to focus as he thought through the woman's questions.

"I know, I seen it." The cowboy responded.

"And you accept it?"

"I don't like to, but it ain't his fault."

"Oh? How so?" The brunette's hands ceased in their work and her gaze rose to meet Alfred's, curiosity shinning brightly in her vivid green eyes.

"He's got a hurtin' soul that sometimes makes 'im, uh-" Alfred really couldn't come up with the proper word for what he was trying to describe; instead he fell back on Arthur's. "Uh, different. Makes 'im blood-crazed and frightenin', but he comes back around."

"You don't fear this blood-lusting side of him?" Elise asked, still watching and gauging the cowboy's reaction.

"Ain't got a reason to, ma'am. Arthur wouldn't hurt me." The blue-eyed American declared firmly, truly focusing on and matching Elise's observation.

"How can you be so sure?" She asked, tilting her head back, a knowing smile on her lips.

"I just do, ma'am. I don't know how I know, but I do, and that's what matters."

"You are a very brave man, Alfred, to place your trust in a man of Arthur's caliber. I'm glad you gave me such an answer though. It reassures me of your place with him."

"Huh? Ma'am, ya talkin' in riddles, and I ain't got the right state a' mind to figure 'em out." He grinned apologetically and tapped his temple.

Elise laughed softly.

"I apologize, Alfred, I'd forgotten for a moment of your condition. What I mean is that, even if I don't approve of Arthur's actions, nor yours, I'm indefinitely pleased that you both have each other."

Alfred blinked, wide eyed as he watched Elise return to her needlework. He smiled lightly and chuckled under his breath after a few moments though.

"You's a good person, ma'am. Thank ya."

"Don't thank me, Alfred. I don't foresee the peace most of us seek in our lives, in yours."

A knock from the door downstairs sounded then, echoing up into the patient's upstairs hall. Elise rose, set her needlework down and nodded to the bedded cowboy.

"I'll be right back." She said and stepped out of the room. Strolling down the stairs, and crossing the wooden floor of the downstairs open room, she opened the door to the criminal pair of Arthur and Gilbert.

"Welcome back Arthur, and Gilbert! Isn't this a pleasant surprise!" She said softly and ushered them both in.

"Mornin', Elise." Gilbert returned, flashing the brunette a coy grin. Arthur merely nodded politely as they both entered and shut the door behind him. When Gilbert walked ahead of them, Arthur saw his opportunity. He needed to talk to his cowboy about the predicament, and he'd preferred to do it alone. He locked eyes with the lady doctor for a moment, hoping she'd understand.

"Dear doctor, could I have a moment alone with Alfred?" He whispered low. The doctor nodded and walked ahead of him, catching up to the dealer's long strides.

"Though, Gilbert, I have to ask, just why are you here as well?" She asked up to the albino as she followed him up the stairs, and noted suspiciously that Arthur was empty handed as well.

"What? I can't just drop by to see ya?" Gilbert asked with a wicked grin.

"You dropping by typically means trouble. I suspect as much now as I do any time you grace my home." Elise responded coolly.

As Gilbert was about to turn to the room where Alfred was waiting, Elise's quick eyes caught the sidelong look from the Brit and she winked at him. The blond clearly did want a moment with his cowboy, without the cheating dealer or the doctor, and that was fine with her.

Looping her arm with the albino's, she started to lead him across the hall to another room.

"Kesese... being friendly today, doctor?" The Faro dealer inquired slyly as he allowed Elise to lead him, completely losing interest in his fugitives for the lovely doctor on his arm.

"May I remind you that I am happily married, Mr. Beilschmidt. I'd just like to speak with you a moment." She said tugging him into the room and smiling back at Arthur, who nodded gratefully, before she vanished into the room with Gilbert.

The Brit quietly closed the door behind him and smiled across the room at the cowboy, who flashed him a cheery grin, despite the slight twinge of pain still lacing his shoulder.

Arthur walked to, then sat on the bed beside Alfred.

The cowboy stretched out his hand and laced his fingers in Arthur's hair with a concerned look: his eyes darkening slightly. The Brit couldn't help but wince when the American's calloused fingers brushed the scabbing gash on his scalp.

"Ya okay, Artie? What happened?"

"Don't worry about it, Alfred. I'm perfectly fine." Arthur assured and lowered the taller's hand from his hair.

Alfred knew better than to believe that, but there appeared to be something more dire, as Arthur's normally bright, emerald eyes were darker and narrowed in thought. He settled himself and waited patiently, that usually worked with Arthur.

"Alfred, I want to speak with about something important."

"Shoot. I ain't goin' nowhere." The cowboy responded, waiting with curious blues fixed on the Englishman.

"That's just it, I am and I was hoping you would as well." Alfred cocked his head to the side a bit.

"Whatcha meanin'?"

"You recall the pale-haired man I told you of in London?"

The cowboy nodded, biting his lip as his stomach knotted in tension. He could very well see the signs of Arthur's panicky worry settling in.

"You see, he's been hunting me for a very long time, dear brute, and I do believe he's trying to corner me yet again."

"Hold up, Artie. Whata ya talkin' about, bein' hunted and cornered?" Alfred questioned, furrowing is brows when Arthur avoided making eye contact.

"The pale-haired man, his name is Ivan Braginsky, he's Russian and he's a bounty hunter, Alfred."

Said man took the information like deja vu, and the Abilene Russian's strange demeanor and words started to slowly click and fall into place. After all, what other white-haired Russian bounty hunter could possibly be after Arthur? There was no possible way it was coincidence that he'd managed to meet Ivan at the Abilene outskirts at that odd hour of the night either. Not to mention the dark look and ominous air the tall man had shown: the same that had scared their horses and had made the hairs on Alfred's neck stand on end.

The cowboy white-knuckled (the cotton bed sheets. How could he not have put any of that together? Maybe he couldn't have originally deduced it all, but after listening to the Russian's words and Arthur's past, he should have known, should have said something. Sure, it had been a bit suspicious, but deep in his mind, he'd probably connected it all. He just had not thought of the consequences caused by retaining the information in his subconscious, rather than bringing it to light.

The blue-eyed American was roused from his thoughts by Arthur's hand shaking his good shoulder gently, and he was vaguely aware of the Brit calling his name.

"Damned git, answer me!" Arthur ordered with a low growl.

"Huh? Sorry Artie, I kinda got lost in my own thoughts."

"Didn't I warn you of the dangers of a brute like yourself thinking?" The Brit raised a thick brow, and his eyes shimmered in thin amusement. However, beneath that lay the flit-like worry still lingering in the familiar emerald eyes.

Alfred shook it off.

"What were ya sayin?'"

"How far back did you cease to listen, twit?"

"Uh, I sorta lost it after ya told me Ivan was a bounty hunter."

The Brit sighed in exasperation and started to continue, but Alfred interjected.

"Artie, I kinda already knew, 'bout Ivan." The cowboy mumbled, knotting his fingers together. Arthur furrowed his brows.

"You did? How? And stop calling me that!"

"Sorry, but the night at Abilene, when ya were with Cole, I met him at the saloon. He told me that he was huntin' some murderer. I didn't know he was meanin' ya though. I think he mighta saw ya when we was tryin' to leave."

The shorter blond growled under his breath.

"It would explain how he's managed to catch me this close." He murmured more to himself than to Alfred. "In any case, one of the saloon's Faro dealers has offered to hide us away until the matter with Ivan blows over."

Naturally, the cowboy looked skeptical, and he voiced his concerns.

"I know dealers, and they ain't the nicest or best folks to trust. I dun' know 'bout trustin' one to shelter ya."

"This one owes me and seems to hold a grudge against Ivan. I think we'll be safe." Arthur responded with a knowing chuckle.

"Owes ya?" Alfred arched an eyebrow.

"I did save his life."

Alfred played with the bloodied ends of a lock of Arthur's hair.

"That why ya got blood in ya hair?"

"You could say that, yes."

"Arthur..." Alfred shook his head and sighed.

"I apologize, Alfred, but the man attacked me, then the dealer. I was protecting him and myself." Arthur's emerald gaze met Alfred's cerulean for a moment and finally, the cowboy resigned.

"Alright." The cowboy thought that there was probably more to that story, but he decided not to push it.

"Then are you willing to go?" The Brit's stomach fluttered nervously. Why was he so shaken by this? His mind didn't doubt for a second that Alfred would come with and stay with him, but the doctor's words haunted his heart like a malicious ghost. The American didn't deserve to be put through any of this. Arthur had dragged the cowboy into his problems completely against his will and only been lucky when Alfred had still followed him. Now though, he'd make up for that and give the blue-eyed blond his choice. Even if it was a near meaningless gesture now, it eased what conscience the Brit had left.

"'Course I'll go." The cowboy stated matter-of-factly, and Arthur reveled in the easing of his nerves.

"I'd like to leave now, if you can." Arthur reached over to where he'd left the American's bloodied shirt and helped him into it, mindful of the cowboy's bad shoulder.

The blue-eyed American touched his boots to the floor and braced on his good arm to stand. The Brit took the incentive to brace his hand on the cowboy's torso and looped his other arm around the taller's shoulder to help support his weight. Even though it had only been a short while for Alfred to rest, the Brit was impressed by just how much good it had done the cowboy. Even the normal bronze of his skin was already starting to return to his drained body.

"We can wait, I didn't mean to-"

Alfred shook his head, and grinned down at his companion.

"I'm fine, just a little tired is all." He assured.

"When we get to Gilbert's ranch, you can get back to sleep anyway."

"Who?"

"Gilbert, he's the Faro dealer."

Arthur helped the cowboy limp to the outside hall when Alfred nodded.

Elise and Gilbert stood by the stairs, the albino leaning over the railing with the doctor standing poised beside him. Whatever excuse the doctor had used to lure Gilbert from intruding on the cowboy and the Brit had apparently run its course.

"This the buddy ya meant?" Gilbert inquired, eyeing Alfred warily. It was quite clear of the tall blond's profession, and while dealer didn't mind betting against cowboys, dealing with them personally was another matter.

"Indeed he is."

The dealer nodded, cursed his luck and unhitching himself from the railing. They all went down the stairs and at the door, Gilbert flashed the doctor a smile and bid her farewell with a kiss to the back of her palm. Elise merely sighed and shooed him out the door.

Alfred stopped though, forcing the Brit to halt as well.

"Thank ya for everything, doctor, I just got one last question for ya though."

"Go on then, dearie."

"Where can I find the veterinarian? My horse got some bad wounds, too."

"Don't worry yourself about it. Just go with Mr. Beilschmidt. I'll be sure to take your horses to Doctor Karpusi later. He's excellent with horses, livestock and pets. After he treats them, and you allow yourself to heal, you can collect them." She reassured and patted the cowboy's arm.

"Thank ya kindly, ma'am." Alfred grinned at her before allowing Arthur to lead him out and away from the doctor's home.

The sun was visibly peaking over the ridges that surrounded the town by now, and it did nothing to alleviate the exhaustion that Alfred felt, or that Arthur could feel starting to catch up with him.

Gilbert stood outside on the edge of the porch, waiting for them with his arms crossed before his chest.

"You sure he can walk it?" The albino asked, looking skeptically at the limping cowboy.

"That depends, how far is it?"

Gilbert shrugged.

"Not far at all. In fact, it's just behind the town, right at the foothills. Think ya can make it?" The dealer switched his crimson gaze to the cowboy. Alfred responded with a nod and stepped forward.

The walk was just as the dealer had promised: short. However, with Alfred's sluggish pace it made the trek appear much longer, and by the time the reached the quaint ranch house, his gashed leg was aching sharply and he had to breathe extremely deep to force the oxygen properly.

The ranch was a small house with a wraparound porch, and fencing set around front and along the sides. In the fenced pens scuttled numerous fowl, mostly chickens. They made a clamorous (noise as the group approached. A perfect intruder alert system, Arthur noted. Good.

Gilbert stepped onto the porch and opened the door for them in mock chivalry, snickering oddly.

"Just try to stay quiet. If ya wake West, I can't promise he'll be happy to see you."

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"You failed to mentioned the bloody lawman lives here as well!"

"Well, he's my brother, so 'course he'd live here too." The albino retorted in a sort of it-should-have-been-obvious manner.

A high chirping sounded then, and the albino's lips alighted in a bright smile as he knelt beside a table just at the entrance.

The cowboy and Englishman watched with curiosity as the Faro dealer rose back to his feet, cradling a fluffy, brilliantly yellow chick. It peeped as Gilbert gently hugged it to his chest before setting the small bird on his shoulder. The tiny chick preened a few feathers before settling down.

Gilbert grinned as the blonds glanced at each other, befuddled by the rather strange display of affection from the crooked dealer.

"My favorite." He merely said and patted the little bird. "I'll go make sure West is asleep. Ya can take the extra room on ya right." He walked off then, the tiny chick chirping noisily and pecking at the dealer's vest collar.

"He a strange one, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred murmured and leaned more against the Brit.

"Indeed he is, my dear brute. However, he is trying to protect us. Therefore, I won't object to his oddities." Arthur dismissed and led them into the room Gilbert had mentioned.

The room clearly hadn't been used in some time. A layer of dust coated the oak chest-of-drawers, nightstand and table. The bed was lined in white sheets, darkened to an eggshell tint with age. Even what might have been bright yellow walls, were now dulled.

Arthur carefully set the cowboy down on the bed as he stood before him. The Brit tilted his head in confusion as Alfred suddenly went tense and suddenly glared at the space behind him. Just as Arthur was about turn to try and search for the object of the American's suspicions, he felt the cold metal against the back of his head and heard the distinctive click of the revolver hammer cocking back, the cylinder rolling to chamber a round.

"Who the Hell are you people, and vhat do you think you're doing in _mein __haus_?"

**Look, I even gave you a Gilbird with your Gilbert! :3**

**Just wanted to mention a few things, incase you didn't catch it, Greece is the vet, I know a lot of people might not recognize only his last name (honestly I had to check around just how to learn to spell it lol).**

**I also spell Ivan's surname with -sky ending. I know it's not technically true about the ski- vs -sky but stereotypically -sky belongs to Russian, Czech and Ukrainian names and -Ski is typically Polish. It's just the way the Cyrillic alphabet structures letter sounds in the languages. It's just my little fix, *shrugs***

**btw, I tried to proof this but the power keeps cutting out and I really can't tell where I started and stopped reading. :P**

**So long for now, peeps!**


	19. Green Eyed Monster

**American Trains**

**Chapter 19: Green Eyed Monster**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**Now then, this chapter is nothing but**_**fluff**_**and ugly suspense builder (if even that). I've just been so hectic lately that I needed some easy to write**_**fluff**_**and I've been crazing and twitching to write some Ivan, so here you all go. Enjoy the airy nothingness that is this chapter! :P**

**Reviews:**

**Kay: *bows* Thank you! Yes, dearest Feliks was my second choice, but I don't see Greece in much of anything so I decided to give him a little spotlight! And naturally Ludwig has to be cautious, I mean, I agree! Who wouldn't with Gil around?**

**Keitorin: I'm glad you're enjoying the stories! Good luck with college!**

**Trumpet-Geek: Indeed he is. ;)**

**Skadiyoko: Gilbird used peck! It's Super Effective! xD**

**Renuki: West knows all that happens in his house! :P**

**DerangedLycan: Thank you, danke, merci y gracias! :) Worry not, my IQ is in tact and I rather enjoy all the reviews, cliche or not! I can't wait to see your art! :3**

**Speaking of art, Starlite-decay, do you mind if I post the link from your wonderful fanart to this story?**

**ilovesmilingfools: Ahh well, Ludwig_is_ Ludwig. xD**

Arthur tried to move slightly to catch a glimpse of the gun wielder, only to be met with a sharp order from the heavy voice.

"Don't move! If you so much as flinch without my say-so, I vill shoot."

The Brit obeyed and flicked his gaze to the cowboy in front of him, watching the American's tension rise with every passing moment. The cowboy looked practically murderous even in his tried and weary body, though the emerald-eyed Brit could see the concern lacing the American's blues.

"Now, vho are you people? Tell me your names."

"Alfred Jones."

"Arthur Kirkland."

"So zhen, Mr. Kirkland, and Mr. Jones, Vhat the Hell do you think you're doing in my house?" Ludwig growled out.

"Your brother invited us, actually." Arthur replied curtly, still watching Alfred.

"Vhat? Turn around." The lawman ordered and the Brit did so, an annoyed scowl greeting the business end of the revolver.

Ludwig furrowed his brows. The man was eerily familiar, and recognition dawned on him.

"You again? How did you escape, and vhat have you done with mein bruder?"

"Nothing, but that's more than I'll be able to say for you if don't get that blasted gun out of my face." The emerald-eyed man snarled and pushed the barrel down.

The tall lawman didn't take kindly to that and smacked the barrel across the Brit's face. Startled, Arthur gasped at the sudden pain and stumbled back, bumping Alfred's knees, and bracing himself against the sturdy body. His fingers went to the split skin just above his eyebrow and felt the warm dampness of blood seep to the surface.

The cowboy reached up and circled his hand around Arthur's writs, tugging it away to check the wound. It was a small split, but a blooming reddish mark formed around it, sure to bruise.

"Ya ok?" He murmured softly, trying to keep the immediate anger out of his tone as he addressed the Brit.

"Fine." Arthur responded in his own whisper and swatted the American's hand away as he looked to Ludwig, who glared death back at them.

"You vill not threaten me in my own home, criminal." He informed them, the gun still raised level at Arthur's head.

"Hey! West!" Gilbert suddenly called as he walked past the open door, still in search. He paused at the doorway and laughed at the scene.

"Shoulda guessed ya'd be holdin' my guests at gunpoint. Put it away, bruder, they're fine." The dealer leaned his lithe frame against the door and patted the chick on his opposite shoulder.

Ludwig kept the gun level and glanced back at his older brother.

"I told you not free him, and you even invited him into our home? Vhat is wrong vith you!" The lawman exclaimed, a baffled expression on his face.

"Well, he sorta let 'imself out. Man figured out how to wiggle out the cuffs, I just handed 'im the key to the door." The dealer said and shrugged, upsetting the bird on his shoulder, who fluttered up and resettled.

The tall lawman looked back to Arthur, who wore a smug grin on his chapped lips. He hardly seemed phased by the weapon trained on him and was leaning casually back, supporting himself on the cowboy's knees. Ludwig gave them one last hard look and lowered his revolver.

"I von't shoot him, Gil, but he's going straight back to the jail." The lawman stepped forward, as if to grab Arthur. The Brit was surprised to feel Alfred stand, his chest flush against Arthur's back and hand on his shoulder, drawing him protectively close. It only took a moment to recover from the start and Arthur relaxed against his American.

"He ain't goin' nowhere unless ya goin' through me first." Alfred shot back, his normally cheery eyes darkened and narrowed in warning.

Ludwig growled, and he could hear his brother snicker under his breath. Clearly his elder brother wasn't going to come to his aide in this affair. Not that he blamed him, though. Both brothers had dealt with more than their fair share of cowboys. Even one as soft-faced as Alfred could be a tricky threat. The blond American looked haggard and worn, but Ludwig knew cowboys to all look much like that and still be able to fight through all Hell. It was a matter of not trusting a first look.

"He is a criminal, a murderer, and he vill be punished for it." The lawman stated firmly, clearly trying to avoid having to tangle with Alfred. He'd go about this logically.

"Oh good sir, you're a bit late for that accusation." Arthur snarled under his breath.

Gilbert heard though, and grinned.

"Ya don't recognize 'im, West?"

Ludwig looked from Arthur, to Gilbert, then back to the Brit and furrowed his brows.

"Vait…" He looked back to his brother once again for confirmation, and the crooked dealer grinned wider.

"Yes sir! That's the mass murderer that damned bounty hunter, Ivan, was talkin' about."

Ludwig frowned deeply.

"I don't harbor murderers." The lawman growled.

"Ya ain't West, I am." Gilbert piped up, unhitching himself from the frame and strutting up to his brother. He clapped the taller's shoulder and tugged at the man's sleeve.

"C'mon, let's go talk about this before ya hurt yaself bein' all self-righteous and pullin' that sense of honor bosh."

"I vill not! These hard cases can't be trusted alone in my house!" The lawman exclaimed, clearly flustered.

Arthur scoffed, clearly over the entire matter. He was tired, and hungry, and the proximity of the cowboy's generous, inviting heat was becoming quite the temptation. He wanted them gone, if only for a moment, just for a brief second with only Alfred, maybe even steal a kiss from the shy blond.

The Brit gave the Faro dealer a pointed look and the other criminal nodded to him and tried to bodily drag the younger.

"C'mon West, look at 'em! They're as played out as they come. They're not gonna do anything, right boys?" Gilbert snickered.

"Certainly." Arthur responded.

While Ludwig was more than upset about being double-teamed by the crooks, he reluctantly gave in to his brother's incessant pulling and started to follow him out of the room.

Just before vanishing out the doorframe, he looked back at the two other blonds. He shook his head and followed after his brother, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur glanced back at Alfred as cowboy released a pent up sigh that hummed through his chest. He sat back down on the bed, rubbing his tired eyes and skewing his glasses. The Brit perched himself sidesaddle in the cowboy's lap, earning a fierce blush and strangled gasp.

"You're rather amusing, dear Alfred, have I told you this before?" The Brit inquired with a smirk.

"Nah, ya usually callin' me somethin' else not suited for a thoroughbred like yaself." Alfred responded, trying to wiggle out from under the emerald-eyed man's slight weight. It only seemed to make things worse, or better in Arthur's mind.

"Thoroughbred, hmmm?"

"Well, y'know, in ya nice suit an' all. Ya look like one, but ya just don't act it." He stumbled out, noticing the Brit grin wider, and lean against him, pushing him back on the bed, still mindful of his bad shoulder. If sheer embarrassment could kill, the cowboy knew he'd be six-feet under.

The Englishman shrugged and slowly pawed at the cowboy's clothed chest in a catlike amusement.

"I suppose it's a compliment, how sweet of you, my dear brute." He hummed pleasantly, merely admiring the sturdy network of muscles beneath the bloodied gray shirt. For some reason, it did a lot more than it should have for the Brit. "I appreciate the brief little rescue from that awful lawman."

By now, Alfred felt as if his whole face and neck were enflamed with his blush as he watched as the shorter teased the shirt open at his clavicles and pressed gently to the skin beneath.

"Whatcha doin', Artie?" he finally inquired, barely choking out the words.

The Brit looked up and smiled softly, enjoying the view of Alfred's flushed face. He chuckled and sat up, straddling the American.

"Embarrassing you, so it seems." He murmured; a hidden slyness coiled in his tongue. "Why so tense?" The Brit inquired, his fingers dipping against the light hollows of the thin collarbones.

"Ya just so dreadfully forward, Mr. Kirkland." Alfred chuckled after a moment and loosed a heavy breath before daring to set his hands on Arthur's thighs, watching him through wide blues. He felt the heat beginning to drain from his face as he forced himself into ease.

"That an' I'm tired and my shoulder won't quit botherin' me." Finished, he let his eyes slip shut to the lulling call of sleep and Arthur's ever moving hands.

"Are you fine with this?" Arthur inquired, cocking his head to the side a bit.

"It's nice." The cowboy responded after a moment's pause. He couldn't stifle the yawn that came immediately after though.

The shorter blond rumbled soft laughter and slipped off the American's stomach. Alfred wasn't sure about the loss of contact; it was both a relief and a disappointment, depending on his mind or his heart. The confliction knotted his stomach strangely.

The Englishman rose from the bed, grabbing one of the extra pillows off it and dropping it to the floor.

Alfred watched him curiously as he sat up.

"Whatcha doin' now?"

"What's it look like, git? Hand me a spare blanket, would you?" He pointed to the folded cloth at the foot of the bed.

"What fer?"

"Right, I'd prefer to sleep without one." The Brit retorted and motioned for the blanket.

"But there's one on the bed already. It ain't cold for another few months." The cowboy responded, a confused expression on his face. Surely Arthur knew that, right?

"Are you suggesting we share the bed?"

_Oh._Alfred felt the familiar blush creep back up his cheeks.

"Uh…" The cowboy trailed off, a tentative lump forming in his throat.

"I presumed as much." Arthur dismissed, hiding his disappointment well.

"I mean we could, if ya wanted." Alfred mumbled, plucking at the bed sheets absently.

"You don't seem all that keen to the idea."

Alfred shook his head. He honestly wasn't sure. On one hand, he rather liked the Brit's familiar lithe body against his own. The cowboy hadn't slept so soundly in however long before Arthur arrived and they'd ended up sleeping back to back each night.

On the other though, the prospect of sharing a bed with the Brit made his stomach flip and flutter around in his gut. What in the name of Texas was so different about the situation? It was just a bed! However, it felt so much more intimate than the unforgiving stiffness of the cracked and dusty ground. It was almost as if the bed was some sort of cottony pit of untried and sinful temptation, beckoning him to fall to it, almost daring him.

The emerald-eyed blond slunk over to the bedside and set the pillow back before stripping off his heavy green suit jacket and climbing into the bed, waiting for some sort of sign from the American before moving any further.

Alfred swallowed hard and mustered up his courage before shifting over slightly and up to rest against the pillows at his back, thus adding space for Arthur.

The Brit couldn't even begin to quell the smug fluttering in his heart, as if to snub his overly cautious mind for doubting. He eased himself down beside the cowboy and curled against the other's side, resting his head over the American's heart.

He quietly chuckled as he listened to it race nervously beneath the ivory bone and worked muscle concealed by lovely sun-kissed skin. His earlier ministrations had left the gray shirt pulled back enough for Arthur's cheek to lay flush against the American's skin.

Quelling his fluttering heartbeat, the tired blue-eyed blond settled in for much needed rest, one arm curling around Arthur's thin, bony shoulders, and his fingers toying with frayed end of the Brit's shimmering golden hair.

Somewhere in the house he could vaguely hear muffled conversation in broken and butchered English and German. Alfred desperately hoped Gilbert would reason with his brother, as he didn't want to lose a moment of relaxed rest, or a second without Arthur's slight frame against him.

He'd work on his inner insecurities with the Brit in time. He wanted to like Arthur, he truly did, but nothing ever turned out as simply as the cowboy wished. But he'd work for it, as he had with everything in life. He'd figure it out if it killed him.

Alfred tugged the blankets up around them and found himself almost immediately sucked into the black bliss of exhaustion-bound sleep as his thoughts dragged him under.

While Alfred and Arthur slept the late morning away in the plush bed of the Beilschmidt ranch, across a short span of golden plains, an irate Russian bounty hunter galloped into the outskirts of Salina on his tall, black thoroughbred.

The horse snorted as a set of cowboys galloped towards him, each on horses of varying shades and breeds. Ivan drew the proud animal up to a halt and the cowboys mirrored him. The foreman of the group tipped his hat to the Russian.

"Howdy, stranger. Ya headin' into Salina?"

"I am." The Russian responded smoothly, flashing the rough looking men a smile.

"Best be watchin' yaself, stranger. Just got word some crazed man killed one a' ours in a saloon last night! We was just headin' out to go and teach that rabid animal a lesson!"

One of the other cowboys, a man of Mexican decent, snarled.

"Shouldn't be no trouble though. We aim to teach him a lesson he won't be walkin' away from. I plan on puttin' the wolf in a bone orchard myself!"

The rest of rough posse growled out a bitter approval and moved their horses around Ivan's tall, sweat-shimmering mount.

They called back a goodbye and rode out, trotting their horses into the golden sea behind Ivan.

The bounty hunter's childish smile turned up in malignant victory. _So, Arthur's been foolish enough to draw attention to himself already? Should have figured_, the Russian thought bitterly as he turned his mount around. _The mongrel just can't keep his hands free of innocent blood._

Ivan chuckled softly under his breath. He couldn't wait to get his hands around the neck of the monster who'd stolen his beloved little sister from him. He make him suffer slowly, drawing out every moment of exquisite pain, and show the English murderer just what true agony was.

Yes, he'd get his real revenge before hauling him back to London to watch the man be hanged like the filthy criminal he was. He'd be at the front row of the gallows, eagerly watching the blond twitch as the life drained from him; his neck looped in the deathly rope.

With that final, pleasing thought, the bounty hunter kicked his horse into an easy walk. He'd barely left Abilene's district, and he knew for certain he'd arrive well before the night was done. He doubted Arthur could escape so quickly, even if Ivan deeply knew the friendly American he'd met at the saloon was aiding him.

It boiled his blood to know Arthur the monster had managed to turn what could have been a good man to himself.

_It's just like him, to drag another victim into his rabid slaughter. Clearly he's managed to fool the cowboy with some sweet ploy._ Ivan rumbled the thoughts off in his mind with a bitter growl. _After all, what sane person would travel with and shield a fiend like Arthur?_

_I doubt the American even knows. He's probably been blinded by some false fairytale of innocence! I'll right him!_Alfred had seemed like a reasonable fellow to the Russian. Perhaps he'd gain an unexpected ally in the cowboy. Oh, he could just picture the look on Arthur's face as the American turned on him. It was almost too perfect!

Ivan forced himself to calm, and ease his eagerly racing heart. He'd have his chance to completely destroy the murdering Brit. Now though, he had to focus on a plan of attack before he arrived in New Cambria, where he knew the cowboy's to be headed, if their information was correct.

**Bah, New Cambria is just between Abilene and Salina, which on horseback at an easy pace would make it a half day's go.**

**Icky_fluffy_ chapter! I feel like a need to go vomit up cotton balls and poor plot management worksheets (btw, _fluff_ and fluff are different. fluff is cutesy,_fluff_ is filler, as so defined by my crazy English teacher)! XD**

**Also, Mexican cowboy? Hellz yeah! As much as 1/3 of the cowboy population ended up being Hispanic in decent. The Mexican vaqueros were the original cowboys. Us Americans just picked it up and went with it. ;)**

**Not proofed, too tired... oh and Green Eyed Monster is so a ripoff of Shakespeare, just not in the same way he meant it (green eyed monster = jealousy via Shakespeare).**

**Also, I was thinking (frightening event, I know) and listening to my mom's old Depeche mode CDs the other day. Could anyone else imagine the theme song to this being _Strangelove?_It just kinda hit me. :)**

**The smidgen of old west lingo in here? Nothing special, I just looked a few fun words up for the Hell of it.**

**Hard case = criminal**

**played out = tired, worn (appropriate coming from the Faro dealer, no?)**

**thoroughbred = a gentleman**

**bone orchard = grave or a cemetery**


	20. Evolo

**American Trains**

**Chapter 20: Evolo**

**A/N:**

**Wow, what's it been, like, 3 weeks since an update? I feel absolutely awful about it! I'm really sorry readers. :(**

**Work and school, between them I do anywhere from 60 - 80 hours a week, and that's not including homework or call-in time. I don't know about ya'll but I'm beat! xP I type like 3 sentences a night, rush to do homework, go to work, come back, eat and by then I'm too tired to even see straight. Here is all I have to show for the fruits of my labor. This lame-ass connecting chapter.**

**I have some added bad news. I've made the decision to put a hold on Risico until I finish American Trains. The bright side is, the story is going to wind down pretty fast. I don't predict going past 25 chapters. Guess that means we're in the home stretch boys and girls. ;)**

**Bright side? Well my stomach illness from the first day only lasted about 48 hours, and I felt healthy as a horse afterwards. Then I came down with the cold, but nothing horrible (happens every year within the first couple weeks of school). Other than that, life's been dandy. Much love to all the people who wished me well! Love ya ~! **

**So the story... yeah...**

**Whatev~ just enjoy it if you can folks. Hopefully the next update will be much swifter and a lot more action-y.**

**Lookie at starlite-decay's awesome fanart! :D**

**http:/ starlite-decay. deviantart. com/art/APH-FICART-American-Trains-253768244**

**Reviews:**

**Kay: Nah, you're too awesome to ever be asshole-ish! xD I appreciate the concern! I love cutesy Alfie! :3**

**Trumpet-Geek: Sadly, my love of Hetalia-connecting-to-history actually came from my supposed 'rival' for the top grade in history. The silly girl would always doodle (she's an amazing artist, and currently in my IB art class now) random people when we took history notes. One day i inquired about them and she told me they were Hetalia characters! xD Our wonderful nerdy-history friendship formed then and there after I got to watching the show. Ever since then, I have constantly tried connecting Hetalia to my history lecture each day. It's incredibly amusing.**

**GKG: Well I'm glad I made it on a to-read list! :D Glad you're enjoying so far!**

**aerrow4eva: *snickers* Oh yes, do kiss him, dear Artie. Among other things! xD**

**Inkaugneato: Lol, the plethora of '' has been transferred successfully. xD Alfie is just amazing! ;)**

**Annette Hughes: Awesome! I took AP world in freshman year. It was a pretty neat class. Go for AP Euro, that was the best by far! **

**Renuki: Artie knows _exactly_ what he wants. ;)**

**Starlite-decay: yay! Thanks! **

**18dustyrose: I wouldn't be surprised if Gil had a trap door to the basement or something. ;P Lol, oh American accents are so fun, aren't they! We're such a nutty bunch when it comes to speech. Those silly Illinoisians just don't get us Southern folks and our sayins'. ;) Hehehe.**

**DL: Yes, much easier indeed! And just go with whatever you think looks good for the art! I had a picture in one of these chapters somewhere, but I imagined it gold, if that's any help. :3 **

**Btw; the chapter title is Latin for 'escape.'**

**On to chapter 20! **

The darkness of the ranch shrouded Arthur's typically keen vision and the Brit rumbled a growl in his throat. He was in the main room of the ranch, his hand trailing the wall for guidance and support as he stumbled about in the dark.

By instinct he reached for the penknife in his pocket and found, to his horror, the familiar weapon to be missing. It made his heart race and thunder in panic. Where could it have gone?

The Englishman didn't have time to ponder the mystery as blood-curdling shriek echoed loudly through the ranch. Arthur felt his heart plunge, and his blood chill as the final notes of the deathly whistle faded out. It hadn't sounded organic, no, more like a steam whistle on a train, but something about it sent the Brit into a whirlwind of dread.

Then a sharp crack could be heard, a thud, and then silence.

He turned and followed the original sound, beginning to tremble as he walked. He slipped into the next room, edging around the sparse furniture and came upon bloody stains on the floor. It was a thin layer, that was smeared in long drag line that lead out of the room and around the bend to the adjoining one.

Swallowing hard, Arthur followed the grisly trail and tried to shut out the intense pounding of his heart ringing in his ears that accompanied the short trip.

As he entered the final room, and the trail began to deepen in the volume of blood, Arthur felt the brooding sense of dread grip him tighter and tighter.

Finally, the trail ended and the emerald-eyed Brit could do nothing but stare in horror. Slumped against the far wall, sat Alfred, his body limp and broken. Arthur's throat tightened and he loosed what breath he could gather in a shaky moan.

The Brit forced himself forward, and knelt before the bloodied American. He slipped his fingers to the cowboy's cheek, feeling the cooling fever of death crawling across the blood-smeared skin.

"Alfred…" He whispered low and leaned closer to the slain man, his forehead touched to Alfred's. He didn't know what to do, what to say. What could he even do besides stare into the closed eyes of the dead cowboy as he tried to run through something sensible? Nothing made sense.

If nothing made sense, then neither did the fact that Alfred's eyes fluttered open then, and Arthur sucked in a surprised breath. The taller's eyes were a filmed, frighteningly pale blue, and they bore straight into the Brit's vivid greens. No. Not at, but through, looking beyond Arthur just behind him in terrible accusation.

Arthur tore his sight away as the hairs on the back of his neck bristled and as he looked back, he glimpsed a towering figure, saw the swift motion and felt a heavy object strike his head with a fatal blow.

Arthur felt himself wake suddenly, his sleep-muddled mind following groggily after his senses. The first sensation was generous living warmth creeping across his skin. The second was the sight of a lightly bronzed plane of skin greeting him. No blood. The Brit sighed in tremendous relief and let his eyes slip back shut, nuzzling against the inviting body beside him.

A dream, it had just been a dream.

The third, and more puzzling of the senses was a far off rattling of wood and iron shaking accompanied by the bellow of a steam whistle.

Alfred blinked awake as the whistle sounded again in a long call. He yawned hugely and gave the Brit's shoulders a light squeeze and looked down at his troubled companion.

"Jus' a train." He muttered sleepily, trying to reassure the tensed Arthur.

Said man sighed again and let his eyes slip back shut.

_Right, just a train, just a dream. Nothing to worry about, chap!_

The cowboy let his hand fall to Arthur's back to skim the scarred skin in slow circles absently as he came to full awakening. His clear, blue eyes alighted to the lone window in the room that overlooked the stretch of hills behind the ranch. In the dying light of the falling sun, he could vaguely see the line of steam smoke that rose above the hills and the whistle sounded again.

It seemed they'd slept the rest of the morning and afternoon away, though Alfred couldn't say that he minded. He also found that the pain in his shoulder had considerably lessened as well.

A knock on the closed door of the spare bedroom sounded and Arthur sat up, moving off the bed just before the door opened and Gilbert poked through the doorframe, half in, half out of the room.

"Hey, boys. Ya got company." The Faro dealer said with somber look on his face, and a warning tone in his sly voice.

Alfred narrowed his eyes, and looked to the scowling Brit at the bedside. Arthur clearly felt the same sense of suspicion he was.

"What kind a' company?"

"Cowboys, lookin' like you, but they didn't mention you once. They ain't with ya, are they?"

"Nah, sir. Ain't none a' mine." Alfred confirmed and pushed the blankets off himself and moved to the edge of the bed, his boots touching the floor.

"Didn't think so. They says they goin' around all the town, lookin' for someone." Gilbert's scarlet eyes switched to Arthur and the Brit swallowed hard.

"I think they're meanin' you, Kirkland."

"Who else?" The shorter blond spit back, covering up his nervous apprehension, appearing uncaring.

The Faro dealer snickered.

"You're just a ballsy fella all around, I like that, but it ain't gonna save ya here with me. Them boys outside are out for blood."

"So send them off." Arthur retorted a bit too quickly, his voice constricting in his throat.

"I tried already. Trust me, I don't like cowboys anymore than the next townsmen."

Alfred clicked his tongue, feeling more like a fly on the wall, rather than part of the actual near-crisis at hand.

"Not meanin' any offense to ya, boy." Gilbert added, laughing, but his eyes dispelled any of the mirth behind the laugh. They were dark with a foreboding seriousness.

Alfred nodded, catching the look and motioning for Gilbert to continue.

"Right, so as I was saying! Them boys out there says they heard from one a' their own that they saw ya'll walkin' to here. West's at the door keepin' 'em from just bargin' in, but they're more than even he could handle."

"What do you propose we do then?" Arthur inquired.

The albino shrugged.

"That window there might be yer best bet." He said and motioned to the sole large window overlooking the plush bed.

The Brit growled low in his throat.

"And what then? It's hardly sunset! There's nowhere near enough darkness to hide us. We'll be seen immediately!"

The dealer sighed, but a thin smirk appeared on his lips.

"Don't worry, West and me got ya covered. We'll distract 'em."

"Ya'd do that?" Alfred piped up, rising from the bed, as he buttoned the top of his shirt back up.

"I would, it'd be too much fun to pass up anyways." Gilbert snickered strangely and his grin spread wider.

"We still have to find a way to escape. We can't hide in this town forever." The Brit warned, his emerald eyes narrowed in thought.

"New Cambria ain't got a railhead, but there's tons of towns nearby where the trains 'll take ya."

"Abilene." Alfred murmured under his breath.

"Probably not our wisest move to return there, brute." Arthur pointed out with a sidelong look at the cowboy.

"Tell ya what, if ya'll can manage to get away from here, find ya'r way back to Doctor Hedervary. She might be able to get ya out a here and somewhere safe with a lil' string pullin.'"

"I'd feel bad troublin' the poor woman again." The blue-eyed American grumbled but sighed.

"Ksesese… Nah, she likes helpin' folks. That woman's on her way to saint-hood."

Arthur merely nodded.

"Seems we'll be visiting the good doctor yet again." He moved to the window and flipped open the locks.

Alfred pulled his sapphire gaze from his companion to the dealer leaning in the doorframe. The albino twitched his hand, motioning for them to go along and started to turn away.

"Thank ya." Alfred interjected sincerely. Gilbert shrugged, however.

"'s nothin.' Besides, I don't know ya two have done to gain all this attention and them wounds-" He tapped his cheek, a mirror of where Alfred's jaws was darkened with Arthur's bruise. Obviously he only had to look at the cowboy's bloodied shoulder to pass the same message.

"-but ya don't look the type to be deservin' 'em. Guess ya could say I feel bad for ya both. Ya'll look run down and about outta steam. Figure if I could help, I will." He finished with a grin.

Both blonds looked to the grinning dealer, then to each other. They did look rather haggard. Arthur in his bloodied suit jacket and shredded dress shirt. Burgeoning bruises along his jaw and forehead and weary expression adorned him as well.

Alfred wasn't much better. The cowboy leaned heavily on his uninjured leg, and the entire shoulder, chest and sleeve of his shirt was caked in blood. His matching bruise to Arthur's was an ugly mix of purples; blues and browns and dark circles formed tired crescents under his dazzling azure eyes.

They were more than grateful for the dealer offering them his aid and he could plainly see that in their eyes.

Gilbert clicked his tongue and walked away, calling,

"Good luck, boys! Ya gonna need it!" As he went to join his brother in baying the furious cowboys at their door.

Alfred watched until he vanished down the hall before came to stand just behind Arthur as the emerald-eyed man watched out the window, vaguely recalling his dream as he noted the steam trail in the distance. He patted the Brit's thin shoulder. Arthur looked up at him.

"I can't even begin to tell you how sorry I am."

"Fer what?"

"Dragging you into my life. You don't deserve all of this bloody mess."

"Don't be." Alfred reassured and leaned forward to press his cheek to Arthur's over his shoulder. "I like ya. All a' ya; ya crazy life too and even the funny way ya talk."

Arthur scoffed but couldn't say he minded the cowboy's soft reassurance and just enjoyed the little bit of affectionate contact he knew must have taken a good deal of courage for the shy blond.

"I like you as well, brute." He murmured in return before prying the window open. It was time to be leaving.

He swung his legs over the sill and dropped down, since his feet just barely hovered above the ground.

Alfred followed him, his boots touching grassy ground easily and he shut the window behind him. The two pressed themselves to dusty wall of the ranch. They could hear the lawman's distinct voice and accent arguing with another set of rough voices and eventually Gilbert's voice chimed into the squabbling with some snippy comments and strange laughing.

Suddenly a loud gun bang split the air, and the whinnying of horses and shrieks of frightened fowl joined the clamor and chaos erupted.

"I suppose, that's our distraction." Arthur rationalized and stepped off the porch, keeping as low profile as he could against the tall grass surrounding the ranch. The cowboy did the same, following after the lithe form of his English friend.

The cowboy glanced back as another shot sang out into the darkening air. He hardly glimpsed anything before Arthur's slim fingers curled about his wrists and tugged him.

"This isn't the time to dally, American." He whispered harshly. Alfred sighed, and continued to follow after, still limping, and not looking back. Gilbert and Ludwig would be all right. They had to be.

Unbeknownst to them, a pale rider on his black thoroughbred watched from a small distance. His violet eyes alighted on the sway of the grass and a pair of silhouetted figures set against the golden-fire backdrop.

Ivan glanced to where the edifice of the ranch house was ablaze in fighting, feathers, horses and gunshot. It was none of his concern any longer. He clapped his heels to te horse's flanks.

"Come Cyzarine, we can't allow our quarry to stray, now can we?" He rumbled to the horse, who snorted and clapped his hooves to the ground in a steady walk.

While the Russian trailed his English prey and American counterpart, the Germanic brothers continued to bay the rowdy cowboys at their door.

It had started off fairly peaceful, Ludwig reflected as he cocked back the hammer on the revolver and blasted a bullet into the nearest cowboy's knee, effectively crippling him to the ground.

Behind him, he could hear his brother calling insults as he ducked under the slow swing of another cowboy. The lawman rolled his eyes at the vulgarity on his elder brother's lips and made to take aim at one of the still horse-bound cowboys.

The cowboy was a quicker shot however and Ludwig winced and stifled a gasp of pain as a well-aimed shot slammed into his arm, and he dropped the revolver, discharging the chambered round in a hefty bang.

The tall blond stepped back, cursing under his breath even as the mounted cowboy struggled to get off another shot under his writhing horse and the flurry of dirt and feathers all around in the chaotic storm that had become the brothers' front property.

"You 'right, bruder?" The albino glanced over his shoulder, sparing a moment to look away from his frustrated attacker.

"Fine." Ludwig returned, not bothering to look back at his elder's crimson gaze. He sidestepped a rough swing from his left as he spoke.

Gilbert laughed with a sense of bitter amusement.

"Looks like we started one hellavu' fuss, huh!" He exclaimed and took the chance to take his own swing at the lethargic cowboy still desperate to land a hit on the lithe Faro dealer. His fist connected firmly to the man's jaw, sending him sprawling to the dirt.

Another shot split the fighting and the brothers looked to see one of the mounted cowboys turn his pinto mare and gallop from the squabble. The man who'd shot Ludwig followed soon after, swearing loudly at the debris clouding his vision.

Some of the others mounted back up on their horses as they saw their companions flee and mirrored them. Ludwig spit as the last cowboy scrambled up on to his horse and fled the scene as well.

"I suppose they had enough a' trying to bully us." Gilbert observed and grinned. The favorite tiny chick of the crooked dealer chirped and fluttered to perch back in the nest of silver-white hair as the dust settled. Gilbert had shooed the bird away just before the fighting had broken out.

Ludwig nodded and slipped his good hand to his wounded shoulder. He was bleeding rather heavily.

The albino took note and clapped his younger's shoulder.

"I'd say we outta get ya to our lady doctor, but I get the feeling she's gonna be tied up with them two odd fellas."

"I'd have to agree. I'm still upset vith you for bringing them."

"No ya ain't. Ya just sayin' that 'cause ya sore. C'mon, Mrs. Hedervary taught me a thing or two over the years. I'll patch ya up!" He chimed and started heading back to the ranch house.

The tall lawman groaned and shook his head, but followed after his brother.

"Hey West?"

"Yes?"

"Ya think them two will be 'right?" The dealer inquired, glancing back at the small expanse of property that led to the town. In the distance he could see the shape of a tall rider against the fiery sunset sky. It made him shudder involuntarily, and the chick on his head chirped and ruffled it's feathers.

"I have no idea, bruder. Perhaps?"

The albino dealer's lips twitched in a frown but he followed after Ludwig and shut the ranch door behind him. Despite his usually feelings towards cowboys, he felt oddly compelled to trouble over the blue-eyed American's safety, and especially the sharp-tongued Brit with him.

Still, the figure of the tall rider didn't sit well with Gilbert, but he shrugged it off to tend to his wounded brother. They'd made it this far, and despite not knowing the details, the elder guessed it had been a Hell of a sojourn; they'd probably make it farther still.

**Not much to say, not a ton of history but a few little facts.**

**The revolver discharging on impact was actually a fatal flaw of the weapon. It had a hair trigger/hammer mechanism and was very easy to discharge once the hair was cocked back. Bumping it slightly could result in accidental discharge. More than a few reports came in of revolver carriers accidently getting shot by their own guns was occurring in those days.**

**Ivan's horse's name is a pet name for an animal, meaning royalty, in Russian phonetics.**

**Fail proofing is fail. I tried, but I keep losing my place and I'm too frustrated to keep editing at this point. Sorry folks, maybe later. ;)**


	21. Fight or Flight

**American Trains**

**Chapter 21: Fight or Flight**

**Warning: This story will contain: violence, character death, swearing, sexual acts (yaoi/slash/boyxboy, whatever you want to call it) and some sensitive material.**

**Hetalia and all its characters, etc. belong to Himayura Hidekaz. I own nothing but the plot, the cowboys and their horses. ;)**

**Beta-ed by ykwyh26 (Kay). :)**

**A/N: Yay! action-y chapter AT FREAKING LAST! xD It's nice and long too!**

**It feels really good to actually post this like 2 days after the last chapter. I feel awesome again. ;)**

**Anywho~**

**Reviews:**

**Kay: Thanks for the welcome back! Lol, I love our UsUk brainwaves being insync! :3 And doesn't every good cowboy sleep with his boots on? xD Slight lapse in my details there! Oh well! Nope, no Roddy just yet. Soon though! I have someone just as lovely for this chapter though. ;)**

**Trumpet-Geek: Lol Hetalia; polluting the minds of perfectly nerdy history buffs and tourists with sexual innuendos. :P**

**Glad you both really liked the dream. I had fun writing a scared shit-less Artie! :3**

**Aerrow4eva: Wouldn't it just be nice if all it took was a little 'shoo-ing' to get Ivan to leave our gay lovers alone? Hehehe**

**DL: Yay! *shamlessnotselfpromotion* I can't wait to see! :D**

**On to the story!**

Alfred and Arthur slunk into the first alleyway they came across and paused for a moment, more for the limping cowboy than any other reason. He sighed and absently rubbed the terribly sore area around his wound.

The Brit swallowed, his eyes darting from the American to the open way.

"It's not much farther, Alfred."

"I know." The cowboy responded, tugging at his denims to see that the cut had managed to reopen and was oozing hot blood again. It wasn't a terribly deep wound, but it did look dreadful. That explained the return of the sharp pain.

Arthur watched the dripping wound for a moment before nudging Alfred.

"You can make it, can't you?"

The cowboy grinned.

"'Course!" He chimed and just to prove his point, he settled his weight even and started forward. He was through with the wallowing sense of weakness he'd felt ever since having been shot. Even though it sent shivers of pain up his nerves, the American held steady and didn't show it.

The Brit resigned with a sigh, acutely aware of the cowboy's show, even if Alfred was a decent actor. Over the few days he'd known him, Arthur was impressed with himself for being able to tell the cowboy's smiles apart, since the cheeky American never seemed to cease with those ridiculous toothy grins. It was like reading the crisp, fresh pages of a book for the emerald-eyed blond.

The duo proceeded to the alley edge and moved along the building's wooden perimeter to keep a low profile. Alfred led them, still forcing himself to walk evenly on his wounded leg.

As before, the trip was short and they soon found themselves at**, **save for the cross, the plain wooden door of Elise's home and practice.

The blue-eyed American rapped his gloved knuckles on the structure and tried to shift some of his weight off his throbbing leg**, **leaning his good shoulder against the building's front face. Perhaps pretending it hadn't hurt wasn't his best idea after all.

The thud of boots echoed even from outside as the presumed doctor approached the door and opened it with a bright smile that could have warmed even the most chilled hearts.

"Alfred! Arthur! I'm surprised to see you both back! Not that I wouldn't mind your-" She paused, and laughed softly as she sorted out a proper word for the uniquely strange cowboy and gentleman. "Your interesting company, that is." The doctor finished.

Alfred grinned broadly at her, momentarily forgetting about the pain in his limb at the woman's positivism.

"Not meanin' any offense, ma'am, but we was hopin' we wouldn't have to come and trouble ya again."

"Yes, I'd hoped things would proceed happier for you both. Ah! But where are my manners? Come in, no need to stand on the porch while the night critters come out!"

Arthur shuddered and glanced down at the ground, rather perturbed by the thought of any more imagined creepy crawlers toying with his imagination. He was quick to follow Alfred in, nearly brushing the cowboy's heels as he tread.

Pushing the heavy door shut, the shorter blond looked back to the doctor and Alfred. It was then that Elise ushered them over to the main room of the house and motioned for them to sit on the cushioned couch set before a small and homely fireplace.

Arthur took his seat at the very edge of the deep viridian stitched cushions, leaning against the wooden arm of it. Alfred perched beside him, or very nearly on top of the Brit, sitting close enough so that their thighs were pressed together warmly.

The Brit made a soft noise in the back of his throat, but didn't bother to move, since he didn't truly mind. This was Elise they were before anyway. Apparently she'd seen them kiss, therefore, what was a little innocent close contact now? Or as innocent as the Brit's wired and devious mind would allow, anyways.

_Innocent? Hardly._The familiar voice scathed in the background of his thoughts. _You are far from innocent in any form._The shorter barely suppressed his natural instinct to recoil from the sneering voice, but managed.

"So then, what is the newest plight you boys have come across?" Elise asked as she took her place in a comfortable looking armchair sitting neatly close to the blackened fireplace. "I assume you haven't been following my directions to stay bedridden either, have you?"

Alfred flushed at the good-natured accusation and kneaded his fingers against the sore muscles around his cut leg.

"Nah, ma'am! I had the best rest of my Western days just this 'noon!" The cowboy nodded whilst flashing a knowing grin to the Englishman by his side. Arthur merely scoffed, blowing off the implication.

Elise chuckled and shook her head; golden-brown locks fluttering about her shoulders.

"Then what, pray tell, is the problem?" She asked again, leaning forward some, her eyes widely curious.

"Cowboys, that's what." Arthur practically spat. "A whole bleeding lot of them."

Elise nodded, her expression blank.

"Yes, Mr. Beilschmidt informed me of your doings at his saloon. While I commend you for saving his life, I don't condone the practice of murder."

Arthur loosed a low growl but quieted when Alfred shifted obviously beside him. The agitated Brit complied with a pointed glare however.

"The man had it coming."

_They all do._

"Still, I implore you, Arthur, to at least consider your actions." Elise sighed. "But this is a different matter entirely. Now then, what about these cowboys made you think I could help? I care for the sick and wounded, not for the rowdy and beastly."

Alfred interjected a hefty sigh. Really, was he truly and terribly so 'beastly?'

The Englishman couldn't help but chuckle and Elise smiled as well.

"You are a completely different breed altogether, my sweet brute." He murmured. "It must be the Eastern blood in you."

The cowboy shrugged his good shoulder and Arthur looked back to the lady doctor.

"Gilbert directed us here. He said you might be able to get us on a train, preferably without being recognized and arrested on sight."

"I have clients and friends who work the rail lines, yes. Also," The doctor paused and rose to her feet. She strode to the fireplace mantel and lifted a small leaden paperweight off a stack of what appeared to be telegram messages. Collecting the papers with a quick shuffle of her hand, she set the weight back and sat down again, using her free hand to decrease the ruffles in her dress.

"According to these, my lovely friend Feliciano should be arriving in Salina on his usual route fairly soon, perhaps even tomorrow. I was going to go visit him when his train arrived."

"Felicano?" Arthur cocked a thick brow.

"Yes. Lovely young man, though his brother's a whole other story. He's a conductor and worker for Mr. Ames and the Union Pacific. I met him when my husband left on his long trip to Kansas City."

Alfred grit his teeth at the mention of the city, which didn't go unnoticed by either Arthur or Elise. When the American picked up on the expectant stares he quirked his lips in a frown.

"Don't like Kansas City much. Stopped there before I made it to Texas and nearly got killed by a bunch a' wolf ex-confederates."

The woman nodded.

"Yes, my husband sends me telegrams about the fights that happen often in the streets. A shame, really."

"Yes, ma'am." Alfred responded somberly.

Elise considered the small lapse in silence. But before her thoughts could fully arrange, a sharp knock sounded on the heavy wooden door that guarded the doctor's home.

The sharp whinny of a horse and the shuffling of heavy boots could be heard faintly above the silence of the house.

Arthur and Alfred both looked to the door with suspicion.

The cowboys; it had to be.

The Brit narrowed his eyes and caught Elise's own mirroring toxic greens. He shook his head gravely and mouthed the word, 'don't' mutely.

Silently, she rose, which made Arthur scowl at the woman's willful disobedience, but she plainly ignored the glare. She motioned for them both to rise and took Alfred's good shoulder. Leaning up on the tips of her feet she whispered in his ear.

"You and Arthur, go hide upstairs. I'll deal with this." She finished and patted the cowboy's arm, before shoving him lightly towards the stairs.

The taller blond nodded and ushered Arthur ahead of him as they proceeded up the creaking wooden flight.

Elise waited until the pounding on the door returned and she was sure that her fugitives were squared away somewhere safe in one of the many patient rooms. Finally, when the knocking became an incessant frustration, she strode to the door and opened it.

Her gaze set upon a very tall man in a long tan coat and high buckled brown leather riding gloves and boots. She could plainly see the glistening blu-shined steel of a Navy Colt Percussion holstered on his hip as well.

The man flashed an eerie smile, far too childish and innocent on a man of that size and armament.

"Good evening, ma'am." He spoke smoothly.

"Good evening to you as well, sir. A pleasure to be met." She responded perfectly bowing her head slightly.

"Oh course. Dear lady, perhaps you can assist me?"

"How may I help, sir?"

"We've met before, haven't we? Please, I insist you call me Ivan."

"As you wish. Friends call me Elise."

"Ah yes, that's right, the doctor. Then Elise, I feel obligated to inform you that you're harboring a wanted man and his accomplice." He said, still smiling.

"You must be mistaken, Ivan. I only shelter clients here."

"Then one of your clients is a murderer." The Russian retorted, his eyes darkening as he stepped forward. "You don't mind if I come in, do you?"

Elise fell back in step and shook her head.

"Do." She said and opened the door wider for the tall bounty hunter to enter. She closed the door quietly behind him. With a twirl of her wrist, the lady doctor motioned to the seat where Alfred and Arthur had just been sitting but a few moments ago.

"Care to sit?"

"No, thank you. I shouldn't be long." Ivan said and scanned the room with his wild, violet eyes. There was nothing out of place, nothing to suggest anyone was here but himself and the doctor. The Russian knew better though; he'd watched his malevolent target and the bewitched cowboy enter this exact building.

"Now then, Elise, as I was saying, you have a madman amidst you."

"I beg your pardon, as I still believe you must be confused." She replied defiantly, stepping around Ivan, to put herself between him and the staircase.

Ivan hissed out a low, almost chanting like noise on his breath. It nearly escaped Elise, but it made an odd chill ice her veins.

"No, dear lady, I am not." He spoke up, and smiled wider at her, a terrible look in his eyes.

"You harbor a man named Arthur Kirkland, and foolish American named Alfred. You will tell me where they've hidden." He commanded, voice menacing.

"I will do no such thing!" The viridian-eyed doctor spat back and edged away as the tall Russian advanced.

"Compliance would be in your best interest, _Elise_." He hissed her name low, like venom seeping off his tongue.

Quite suddenly, the aforementioned doctor bolted up the stairs, surprising the violet-eyed hunter. She made it nearly to the top before Ivan sprinted after her with a furious snarl painted on his lips.

As her boot heel touched the top step of the upper floor landing, she pivoted and grabbed the handle of the first door in the hall; the very same she'd stitched Alfred's wound in. She silently prayed that they'd be in there.

Flinging the door open, she raced in, dress skirt fluttering wildly, and slammed it behind her. Glancing back she felt a tremendous relief settle in her chest at the two surprised men she witnessed.

Arthur, who had been leaning with his back against the wall across from the bed, unhitched himself and looked as if he were about to speak. The doctor cut him off however as the sound of heavy boots struck the old weak spot of the top landing and moaned beneath a heavy weight.

The blue-eyed cowboy was quick to his feet, eyes narrowed in a defensive seriousness.

"Alfred, the door!"

The cowboy lunged to the door, throwing himself against it with Elise just as Ivan tried to wrench the heavy wooden structure open. From their place pressed against the structure, the cowboy and doctor could hear Ivan's frustrated growl as their combined weight held him at bay.

Elise glanced back at Arthur.

"It's Ivan." She said with a morbid dread and Arthur sneered.

Alfred loosed a low groan of pain as the door thundered again from Ivan's strength, paining his bad shoulder.

The lady doctor pressed all her weight back against the door.

"Arthur, Alfred, I have an idea, but I need you to do exactly as I say."

The Brit nodded, and Alfred did the same past another wince.

"Alfred, do you think the both of us can hold him off?"

"I can try, ma'am." He hissed out as the door shook so violently it sent jarring waves through Alfred's body straight to his bones.

Elise nodded, and looked back to the tensed emerald-eyed blond.

"Arthur, in the chest-of-drawers are yours and Alfred's belongings I removed before I left your horses with the veterinarian."

Arthur moved to the chest and opened it, revealing the old saddlebags and Alfred's carbine.

"Take them, and while we distract Ivan, flee here and find a man named Feliks Łukasiewicz. He's a coach driver that lives only a few buildings across the way from here. He'll take you to Feliciano in Salina. From there, well**-**"

The door slammed hard again, shoving Elise back and shaking the blue-eyed cowboy as he struggled holding against the larger, uninjured Russian.

The brunette rushed back and pressed against the door again.

"From there, explain what's happening to dearest Feli. He'll take you somewhere safe on the train."

Arthur confirmed and pulled the saddlebags from the chest, slinging them over his shoulder along with the carbine.

"Why not just shoot the blimey bastard?" The Brit snarled, gripping the carbine's strap hard.

"No. I won't have murder in my house."

"You're sure?" He inquired, eyes dark with mixed emotions and a nervous panic searing his painfully constricted chest. Damn the woman! Shooting Ivan made their entire problem vanish with the smoke off the barrel when it was said and done.

"Yes. You can trust Feliks and Feliciano. They're good men, and my friends." She answered, both to assuring the quality of her friends and the less lethal approach.

"Very well then, good doctor. Thank you for this."

"Don't thank me quite yet, dearie. We still have to succeed in our plan." She locked her gaze on Alfred's glass-blue eyes and silently readied herself and hoped he would as well.

The American gave a little nod and they both jumped back from the door as Ivan slammed it again. As the weakening frame guard burst open and Ivan nearly fell in, Alfred reached forward and grabbed the white-haired man's collar, forcibly yanking him further into the room to clear a path for Arthur.

The Englishman recognized his chance and sprinted from the room, taking the stairs down to the ground floor two at a time as he raced.

Ivan recovered quickly, thundering a frustrated growl as Arthur escaped and latched his grip onto Alfred's wrist and twisted it painfully, forcing the American to release him with a pained gasp. He wrenched Alfred forward and threw him to the ground.

Hitting the old wooden floor, the cowboy rolled, and was almost instantly back to his feet, a fiery fighting look in his bright blue orbs.

The two men stepped sidelong and circled, neither gaining ground until Alfred managed to plant himself between Ivan and Elise, who'd stepped back.

Ivan smirked devilishly and cocked his head to the side.

"I'll give you this one chance, Alfred. Stop this silly game. Surely you know what Arthur's done, or has he lied to you?"

"Nah, I know plenty." Alfred retorted, teeth bared slightly.

"And yet you still choose to fight me, instead of hunting him?"

"By Hoyle, I do."

"He's a murderous devil! Nothing but some street mongrel with a taste for blood!" Ivan roared.

"Ya dun know 'im." Alfred rumbled back, his voice low.

"You're wrong, American. I know his kind all too well. He stole my sister from me!"

"M' sympathies, but that dun give ya the right to try and steal 'im from others."

The Russian laughed bitterly.

"And what imbecile would want anything to do with such an abomination like Kirkland? Obviously he's bewitched you, but what sane, unhampered person would? I will do the world a great favor when I see him hanged for his crimes."

"I ain't fooled. Artie's my friend, and I ain't never let a friend down."

"I'll make it a first." He snarled and lunged at Alfred. Despite his size, Ivan was remarkably quick and Alfred barely managed to catch the direct punch aimed at his gut.

Before he had a chance to attempt his own swing, he threw back his head and howled in pain as the violet-eyed man managed to dig his fingers into Alfred's wounded shoulder. His gloved fingers ripped at the careful stitching, shredded muscle and frayed nerves, probing violently.

Alfred couldn't retreat from Ivan vice grip on his shoulder, but valiantly attempted to tug away, even as he felt his knees buckle.

Forcing him to the ground, Ivan overpowered the wounded and pain-shocked cowboy and clamped his massive hands around Alfred's throat, crushing him to the wooden floor.

The American's hands scrabbled at the violet-eyed attacker's hands and he bucked and thrashed in wild desperation as the oxygen was severed from his lungs.

The Russian smiled down maliciously at Alfred, child-like in gloating victory as the cowboy's life dimmed beneath his grip. His thrashing lessened and Ivan grinned wider as even the cowboy's hands fell away from their vain struggle.

He was winning! He'd win and kill Alfred and then Arthur would be all alone. He'd be miserable and destroyed and it made Ivan's heart pound with sheer glee. It wasn't that he really wanted to kill the blue-eyed American, but if they were 'friends' then this was just too perfect to pass up!

Just as he was nearly sure the limp American had truly passed from this world a painful force struck his back forcing him off of Alfred.

He caught himself, a bit stunned by the attack. Before he could even turn to see his attacker, another blow caught him viciously over the head, sprawling him to the floor beside Alfred, who groaned and flickered back to consciousness.

No! He had to kill Alfred!

"Alfred, run!" Elise called as she cracked the cast iron frying pan she'd stolen from her kitchen over Ivan's back again as he tried to rise.

"Nah, ma'am." He groaned out while trying to catch his breath and fumbled to try and stand.

"Don't be stubborn! Just go!" She ordered with a fiery burn to her words that didn't allow any room for disobedience, but letting a lady try to fight off a man like Ivan while he fled like a coward would never have sat well with the ex-soldier.

On his knees, he tackled Ivan from the side, slamming them both against the metal framing of the bed. He cuffed the man's temple with the heaviest blow his strained strength would allow, striking it against the metal and Ivan went limp almost instantly.

The cowboy stumbled to his feet, gripping the frame for support as he wobbled up on shaky legs. The pain in his shoulder and leg left him winded for a moment as Elise approached him.

She tentatively placed her hand on Alfred's back as he panted, still gripping the bed frame with a knuckle-whitening vice.

"Brave, stupid boy." She muttered lightly on a relieved, soft laugh.

The cowboy smiled weakly.

"I been told that before, ma'am." The blue-eyed blond said between pants. "Ya pretty brave yaself."

She smiled but slunk her slim fingers to Alfred's bad shoulder, carefully peeling the torn shirt aside to assess the damage Ivan had inflicted. The stitching still held, if only slightly mangled, but the wound wept long trails of blood again.

"I'll be just fine." Alfred said, brushing off her hand. At least he hoped he would. He could already feel the bone-deep and soul weary fatigue atrophying his strength and sapping his muscles.

His sinking thoughts fled to Arthur. He hoped he'd be back soon with the coach. He doubted Ivan would stay unconscious for too long.

"Come." Elise beckoned and looped her arm with Alfred's to help him stumble out of the room and struggle down the stairs.

She sat him down on the plush couch, set her frying-pan-turned-assault-weapon back in the kitchen and went to the door. Leaning her form in the doorframe, her hands plucked absently at her dress as she waited in anxious anticipation.

It wasn't long however before the clatter of hooves and creaky wheels pattered over the dusty way and met the lady doctor's ears. She glanced back at the sitting cowboy and beckoned him over with a twitch of a hand gesture.

Groaning, he rose and limped over to her as she directed his gaze down the way with point of her index finger.

Alfred smiled lightly as the coach rolled up before the doctor's house, pulled by a pair of blocky looking bays, both with white blazes dappling their foreheads to their noses.

While Arthur was perched on the far side of the driver's bench, looking rather annoyed, another with brilliant blond hair was driving and clearly trying to make conversation with the annoyed Brit.

Alfred thought he couldn't have been any happier to see that familiar scowl.

"Artie!" he croaked out in his tired voice.

It distracted the chatty driver for just enough time for the mentioned emerald-eyed man to slip from the bench, move around the horses and jog up to the exhausted American.

The driver huffed, but Elise approached the bench and started speaking with him in an urgent tone.

While to driver smirked and downplayed Elise's worry with a few wild gestures and chimed words, Arthur merely stood in front of the weary man before him.

Alfred smiled and ruffled Arthur's messy hair, to which the Brit snarled feral-like and shoved his companion's hand away.

_You nearly lost him. Yet again._

While he would have liked a detailed explanation of the occurrence, he could plainly see Alfred was beyond tired; he looked about to keel. Instead of probing, the shorter heralded him to the stagecoach, set his hand on the other's arm to steady him and aided him into the cushioned body seats.

Alfred gave a grateful smile as Arthur set his foot on the carriage step and stood on it, looking to Elise and their annoying driver, Feliks.

"You'd best be going." The doctor observed with a sad smile, turning her attention from the driver to the Brit.

He merely bobbed his head in acknowledgment.

"Thank you, ever so much. You've done so much for us, and you hardly even know us."

"It's my profession, Arthur, dearie." Elise responded modestly.

"Even so…"

"Think nothing of-"

"Can we put a wiggle on it? Please?" The driver interjected and sighed in overdramatic exasperation.

While Arthur glared death at the driver, who began to examine his nails, Elise laughed and stepped back from the stagecoach.

"I'll take care of Ivan. You boys go, and maybe come back to visit me some time?"

"Naturally." Arthur said and inclined his head, giving a little bow; he ducked back into the body with Alfred and their sparse luggage and shut the passenger door.

"Give Feli my best regards!" She called as Feliks cracked the whip on his horses and the coach started off.

She watched it until the black body melded into the night horizon before she finally turned to return to her home. The doctor walked back up the stairway and proceeded to the room they'd left the benumbed Russian in.

To her horror, when she arrived, the room was empty, save for the usual furnishings. No body, nothing.

She murmured a prayer under her breath and walked to the window that faced the main way.

_If Ivan's still out there now, then please, help those boys find solstice._ She prayed and clutched her hand over her heart. She'd done all she could; now it was out of her hands. All she could do was hope and wait.

**Poland! It's Poland! Sorry I couldn't do his 'valley girl' dialect (1870 and all,) but the implication of being incredibly annoying and chatty to Artie made me giggle as I wrote this. :)**

**And yes, I have shoved N. Italy into this madness as well! I love little Feli! 3**

**History! :DDD (and fun facts!)**

**For once I had Elise act as a 'proper' lady. Bowing one's head to a man and their original greeting was very to the standard of the higher class of the 1870; Victorian, if you will.**

**Alfred's distaste for Kansas City stems from post Civil War bitterness in the city. After the war ended, it became a hot spot for pro-south sympathizers and ex-confeds. The city was practically a riot town with how many fights broke out from 1865 to nearly 1880. ex-confeds and ex-union boys would start fights over anything and everything.**

**The Allusion to Mr. Ames and the Union Pacific was actually the owner of the Union Pacific Railroad at the time and it's name. In 1869, the transcontinental railroad was completed and opened. It got a bit vague, but the rail head for Union Pacific was in Abilene, however I'm fairly certain there was a station in Salina too. Getting really specific with these old cowtown stops that likely don't exist anymore can be pretty vague. I apologize if this is inaccurate.**

**Ivan's gun is specifically a #553 Colt Percussion 1851 Navy Mfg. 1863 civil war edt. gun. For the non-gun knowledgeable, 'blu' is just the coating put on the metal work of guns to make them wear and rust resistant. It adds a very subtle shine to the gun too. ^^**

**Western slangs:**

**By Hoyle - like 'damn straight' or 'that's right'**

**Put a wiggle on it - hurry up**


	22. Pet

**American Trains**

**Chapter 22: Pet**

**A/N:**

**Yeah, still feelin' good and kickin' to get this done. Only three more chapters after this boys and girls! Crazy, huh? Gosh, I'm gonna be so sad when this ends. My first piece of fanfiction is already starting to come to a close! Ah, well, it's been fun! :D**

**Reviews:**

**Skadiyoko: Who doesn't love Poland and Feli? Am I right? xD**

**Renuki: :D I love Elise and her frying pan, teehee**

**aerrow4eva: It wouldn't surprise me if if it was, honestly. :P I'll let ya'lls imaginations pick the inside of the coach's body. xD**

**Kay: *chuckles* I love terrible puns! Lol. Russia is just scary in general, speedy escapes be damned! D: Yes, I really liked the gun, and thought he'd probably buy something nice and new just for Artie. Oh, not this chapter, love! Soon, soon, soon, haha! Gil would be proud. ;)**

**Very slight new warning for this chappie. Not really a warning, more like a proceed with cation, slight fluff and possible illegal touching ahead. ;)**

**off we go!~**

Arthur sunk into the well-cushioned seat bench of the stagecoach's belly with an airy sigh. His green eyes were half lidded as he looked to the worn American across from him.

He expected to at least see some sort of relief apparent in Alfred, but instead his shoulders were braced and tense and his hands were clasped in his lap, knotted harshly. This perturbed Arthur. Shouldn't there have been a triumphant smile, if not, maybe even a little grin on the American's thin lips?

"Alf-"

"We left Hero!"

The cowboy blurted out and his troubled glass blue orbs met Arthur's, making the Brit sigh again. Leave it to Alfred to worry more about his horse than his bleeding, broken self after fighting off a Russian bounty hunter.

"It's just a horse, Alfred."

"He's _my_ horse!" Alfred bit back, his tension snapping into his voice.

Arthur moved to reach forward and easily slip his hand into Alfred's, splitting the cowboy's wrung fingers and squeezing gently in silent reassurance.

"When this all blows over, and it will, I promise we shall back for Hero."

"Cisco too?"

Arthur nodded his head with a weary smile.

"Of course."

"Thanks Artie." He murmured, letting some of his tension go before he tugged Arthur's hand and glanced to the seat beside him. The shorter blond took the obvious invitation, released the cowboy's hand and sat beside him.

"I'm going to box you if you insist on calling me that obnoxious pet name again, however." He grumbled out but rested his head against Alfred's good shoulder.

A small yawn escaped him; having crept up on him as only in the moment of rest did Arthur realize he was tired yet again. The proceeding ordeal had been exhausting, even if it was brief. He could only imagine how much worse it was for the sturdy American he leaned against.

Arthur couldn't help but smirk as the blue eyed American mimicked his yawn and nuzzled into the emerald-eyed's messy locks.

Reaching over Alfred's lap, Arthur took the cowboy's gloved hand again and twined their fingers together, to which the cowboy swallowed hard and tried not to blush but failed miserably as the familiar burn crept on his cheeks anyway.

The Brit felt the American tense and tilted his head up so that their noses brushed and locked his gaze to Alfred's. His bright blues twinkled curiously down at the ever so close Englishman and shimmered with an array of fleeting emotions. From tired, to nervous, to content and confused, it all showed plainly and bluntly there in Alfred's eyes.

Reaching his free hand up, Arthur cupped Alfred's cheek and smiled, only further deepening the cowboy's blush. His thumb skimmed in slow circles over the bronzed skin, still slightly paler than usual from their trials. The Brit allowed his hand to skim down to the American's jaw and trace the sensitive skin on the strong outline of his maw from just beneath his earlobe to the underside of his throat.

"Relax." Arthur commanded softly, his breath tickling the blue-eyed cowboy's lips after feeling how tightly clamped the muscles of Alfred's jaw were beneath his fingertips.

The cowboy released his held breath and tried to loosen as best he could. It helped with Arthur's slim fingers pressing soothingly on his skin, uncoiling the taught muscle with expert pressure around his jaw and neck. He kept his sight to Arthur's intense green gaze as the Brit worked, watching the emerald shimmer in the dim light of the coach's insides. Only the little glassed lantern set on the wall gave them light as the curtains were drawn over the windows, shielding them from the nearly full moon outside.

Only when Arthur's talented hands worked past his neckline and undid the first button on Alfred's shirt did the American wrench his gaze from Arthur's glanced down at the hand set at the hollow of his throat, the Brit's fingers draping lightly on his clavicles.

Alfred felt the heat on his face and neck spike high and knew he was blushing even harder, for Arthur's grin intensified as well, but there was something else. A questioning look sparked his green gaze, and it was obvious to the content as the Brit's fingers pressed further down, against the jut of Alfred's sternum.

So close to Arthur, entrapped by the heat and pleasant feel, the American wasn't even sure if saying no was plausible at this point. He wouldn't speak, unable to trust his own voice and merely stayed stock still, waiting to glimpse if Arthur would continue without any vocal encouragement.

Undeterred, the emerald-eyed blond slipped his fingers further down, unclasping the buttons all the way to his companion's stomach and pushed the shirt aside to curl his fingers around the slightly exposed expanse of Alfred's waist. As with his jaw, Arthur thumbed the tantalizing plane of skin lightly, reveling in the way Alfred allowed his eyes to slip close and he breathed an airy breath of content.

As Arthur's hand began to crawl fluidly back up his stomach and chest, Alfred let his tension rich thoughts go and let the pervasive emotion of just feeling wash over him like tide, lapping at the fringes of his mind as it began to swallow him up.

"Brute..." The Brit murmured softly on his breath, delighted with the way the oh so shy cowboy was finally giving in. His heart drummed excitedly at the sheer thrill of finally, _finally_ being allowed some sort of true intimacy.

The little spark that had blossomed into this wholesome fire in Arthur's determination refused to be quelled. He still wasn't sure where that spark had come from and how it had burgeoned so quickly, but he couldn't deny it. The Englishman was too deeply rooted into his affection for the bright-eyed cowboy to ever uproot the coils from him.

The call of his pet name made Alfred's eyes flutter open and he made a soft noise in his throat to indicate Arthur had his attention. Looking into the soothed and warm blues of Alfred's eyes suddenly made a lump well up in Arthur's throat. He'd been wanting to say something, something so desperately needed in their situation. The very something that had been caught in his conflicted heart all this time but now refused to break free of it's cage even as it had burned wildly for escape.

"I-" His tongue felt numb suddenly and he clenched his fingers tightly with Alfred's. The American flashed a confused look at Arthur's sudden inability to come across forward and straight as per usual.

"I-I think t-t-that I-" The shorter tried again, loosing a frustrated growl as the simple words refused to alight on his normally fluent tongue.

"Artie?" The cowboy offered and set his free hand on Arthur's thigh. He blinked curiously. Just what was Arthur trying to get at?

Arthur snarled, frustration boiling hot under the skin.

"Oh bloody fuck! I love y-"

The stagecoach lurched violently, sending Arthur crashing ungracefully into Alfred, their foreheads colliding painfully as the Brit fumbled over the surprised American.

Alfred yipped in pain, falling back to the seat bench with the shorter sprawled on top of him. His shoulder protested the jerky movement with a twinge that shot through his whole body. What had just happened?

"Sorry!" The driver called back from his seat outside the coach body.

The Brit sneered as he braced his hands on either side of the cowboy to sit up on his chest once he'd collected his wits about him.

"I swear, I'm going to cut out that obnoxious man's tongue before this trip is over." He snarled low, glaring back.

Alfred chuckled and rubbed his gloved hand to the throbbing region of his forehead. The pain in his shoulder died away to a mere ache. He was sure yet another bruise would be forming on his already dappled face, however.

"Uh, Artie, ya got a hard head!" he chimed over his laugh. What about the situation he found comical, he wasn't sure, but it felt good to laugh anyway, even if Arthur redirected his pointed death glare to the American beneath him.

"Shut it!" He sighed in exasperation when Alfred continued to giggle and simply lay himself back down across the blue-eyed cowboy's chest, nuzzling into his collar. He smirked to himself as Alfred ceased and could hear his heart speed up beneath him.

"Uh, wasn't ya sayin' somethin' before, Artie?"

Alfred suddenly yelped when a set of teeth nipped at his collar.

"I was, however, this is the last time I warn you about that, brute. My name is _Arthur_, not 'Artie.'" The emerald-eyed Brit teased against the taller's chest.

The cowboy almost couldn't help the strong temptation just to proverbially poke the bear and call the man on his chest by his pet name again. He wasn't really sure if the bite had been meant to hurt, but it had made a strange, coiling heat whirl in the pit of the cowboy's stomach and suddenly left an odd craving there to linger.

"Sorry, Artie." He smiled down at the Englishman, a burning eagerness shimmering in his eyes that Arthur noted slyly when he looked up to the uncharacteristic tease. What had emboldened the American so? He wondered if that nip at drummed up a pleasing nerve and smirked dangerously. No matter, the emerald-eyed man wasn't about to let the American escape now.

Arthur curled his fingers over the American's collarbones and easily pulled himself up to loom over his handsome blond prey with a predatory gaze that would put a hungry lion to shame.

Alfred's moment of boldness fled at the devious look in Arthur's burning green gaze that bore into him. The heat on his face intensified and he squirmed a bit under Arthur's slight weight.

"Care to repeat that?" The Brit inquired as he set his hands on either side of the cowboy's head and leaned down, breath tickling Alfred's flushed face.

The victim of the sly question pursed his lips and offered a shy grin.

"Uh, I was just a' wonderin' what ya was tryin' to say earlier, y'know?" He stumbled out.

"Haven't I already told you how poor at falsifying you are?" Arthur inquired rhetorically, dipping to nip Alfred's ear.

A soft, involuntary moan unfurled itself from Alfred's lips before he could think to stop it. He squirmed in confused embarrassment as the Brit chuckled dangerously into his ear and lapped his tongue at the pliable, bitten skin.

Being able to only raise one good arm, he set his hand on Arthur's chest and tried to send a message by pushing lightly back against his predator.

The Brit gave a much more severe bit to the American's earlobe in response, and Alfred half-moaned and half winced.

"Relax, Alfred…" He whispered soothingly in the cowboy's ear, but his words were laced with an invading slyness that tumbled Alfred's stomach in apprehension. The nervous, scared or eager kind, he wasn't sure about though.

"Artie, wait." He tried again even as Arthur scrapped his teeth to Alfred's jaw line and nipped and kissed there. The cowboy couldn't help but tilt his head back some, baring more of his vulnerable throat to the teasing lips, tongue and teeth.

He felt his resistance falter even farther as a heated sensation pooled in his gut. His good hand pushed feebly but he felt Arthur take up that hand and twine his fingers, all the while pushing it away and pinning it beside Alfred's head.

Arthur sunk his canines into the slight jut of the blue-eyed captive's Adam's apple and basked in the sweet sound of Alfred's pained whine.

"Told you; warned you, that only I could ever hurt you." He murmured against the American's neck, though his victim either didn't hear or didn't respond to directly.

"Stop." Alfred finally choked out, and hissed through gritted teeth when Arthur ignored his demand and nipped his collar with a thorn-sharp bite before looking over Alfred again.

Catching his lip between his teeth, Alfred felt heaviness settle in his chest looking into Arthur's eyes. They were wild, feral-like, and dangerously possessive. All sense of control fell away from the American. What had he started?

A terrible smirk painted the shorter's lips and alighted his whole, pale, slim face with a sort of insanity that made Alfred long to stare harder into his sight, and hope to draw the true Arthur back.

"Don't look at me in that tone of voice," He chuckled, and leaned closer. "I've not had to put up with that fucking Russian keeping you and I so dreadfully close and yet so apart for nothing now." He licked his lips before pressing them to Alfred's, hard.

At first Alfred refused to give in to the possessive Brit but found his body betraying him and that lingering heat filled his belly again. When his predator slid his tongue forcibly into his mouth, he couldn't help but moan meekly into the other's cavern and finally kiss back with some reluctance.

This certainly what he'd wanted when he'd only tried to playfully tease Arthur and merely called his affectionate pet name.

This also wasn't how he imagined he'd end up with Arthur; forcibly held down and in the possession of the darkest side of his only friend. Why? How?

He mentally swore as his lungs burned for air and gasped when Arthur's warm, wet tongue left him.

He looked up at Arthur pleadingly. He might very well have over powered Arthur if the urge to fight had actually been ingrained into him, but it wasn't. Insecurity wormed its way into the cowboy's gut along with the festering heat.

Was this what Arthur wanted, really and truly? He didn't want to hurt Arthur and deny him something, but somewhere his mind, something told him not throw himself to the tortured Englishman, no matter how much he might have needed it. But who was to say the cowboy didn't want it either?

He wasn't naïve to his own feelings or wants. The luxurious warmth, the incredible feel, and the intimacy of the future Arthur offered him was something he couldn't deny. Not anymore. Maybe not ever.

But this? This wasn't the warmth and affection he'd wanted. This was something dark and cruel, a sadistic corruption of Alfred's desire.

"Artie…" He moaned out the other's name and unlatched his fingers from Arthur's to coil them in the Brit's hair as the emerald-eyed man set to nipping and kissing down Alfred's chest.

"Hmmm?" The shadowy blond hummed, and looked up at his prey through half-lidded eyes.

"Please stop." Alfred begged, unable to stop himself. He loosed a strangled pant when Arthur's response came as a toothy, wicked grin and his hand palmed his crotch through the American's rough denims.

The cowboy grit his teeth and stifled his rising groan when Arthur pressed more firmly, and rubbed his hand against the material.

"Why? You seem to be enjoying this." He clearly had twisted Alfred's natural bodily reaction, equating it to the cowboy's mental state.

"N-n-no." The blue-eyed American tried again to inch out from beneath the shorter blond's skilled hands.

"I-I-I don't want…this." He strangled out even while Arthur promptly ignored the cowboy's plea and undid the latch of his pants and zipper, removing the thick material from between his hand and Alfred's hardening manhood.

"Oh contraire. I think you do." Arthur giggled and forced the denims down farther before curling his fingers at the edge of the cowboy's undergarments.

"N-not like this!"

"So stop me."

"Git off!" He ordered desperately and finally forced his body to cooperate with him and managed to yank himself from Arthur grasp with a writhing jerk that pushed Arthur back and the American's back to the coach's far wall.

"Stop…" Alfred murmured sadly, glass blue eyes lidded in despair and self-loathing. He ignored the pain stemming in his shoulder again, having been agitated by his flail, to stare Arthur in the eye, desperate to soothe the ferocity staring back at him.

Arthur looked as if he might pursue his cornered prey for a moment before closing his eyes and letting a sigh roll from his lips. The Brit sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep himself under control, both mentally and physically.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out after a long silence lapsed between the two of the short space of the coach's belly. He made a soft choking noise.

The taller blond felt the painful twist of guilt wrenching his confused, burning body. He attempted to speak, but he just couldn't force the words out. They felt vapid and hollow in his mind.

"I'm so sorry." Arthur chocked out again. The ugly, familiar feel of sheer panic was seizing him. What had he done? Why did Alfred have to look at him like that? Damn it all!

"I-I-I don't know what came over me. I just-"

"It's 'right." Alfred mumbled softly, a thin, worn smile creasing his lips as he watched Arthur start to shake stumbled out his words.

The sturdy cowboy leaned forward to Arthur. Noting the glistening wetness forming at the corner of the unstable man's eyes, he set his mind and removed his gloves, silently setting them aside before brushing the half-formed tears away.

Arthur refused to look up at him, preferring to keep his head bowed, golden hair shielding his face.

That was just fine, Alfred thought as he circled his arms around Arthur's neck and pulled the lithe form against him in a hug, even through the pain the motion caused to his wound.

The Brit made a surprised noise in his throat, and braced, but Alfred's strong arms around him easily trumped the shaking man's resistance. Arthur resigned and finally leaned forward into the American's chest, nestling into the crook of his neck.

"I'm sorry." He breathed out in a low whisper again, and looped his arms beneath Alfreds' to cup the heavier's wide shoulder blades.

Though the pain still throbbed in his shoulder, the American felt a pleasant, all over tingle resonate throughout his form as the Brit pressed close to him and continue to whisper his chocking apologies. Eventually though, he went silent, and just sat in the circle of the cowboy's arms.

When the ache became a sharp pain, Alfred shifted uncomfortably, to which Arthur looked up, bringing his hands to rest on the blue-eyed man's chest.

"C'mon, let's get some shut-eye." Alfred murmured and leaned back to recline fully on the plush seats of the bench. The Brit followed splaying out over the longer body, curling the fingers of one of his hands over the cowboy's heart, while Alfred's good hand toyed with strands of hair at the nape of Arthur's neck.

"Alfred-"

"Shhh," Alfred soothed before the Englishman could work himself back up into another fit of guilty panic. "When do I ever not forgive ya, huh?" He teased and shut his eyes.

Loosing a breathless chuckle, Arthur curled up a bit on Alfred. He didn't say anything succeeding the simple question, but waited until he was absolutely sure the bronzed American was deeply engulfed in sleep before voicing his thoughts.

"You always forgive, even when you shouldn't, and maybe that's just another reason I love you, stupid, sweet, dear brute." He mumbled into Alfred's skin before letting his eyes slip shut and falling into blackness.

*~.:AT:.~*

A sudden jolt of the carriage awoke both the cowboy and Englishman hours later. Alfred was the first to come to full wake and nudged the groggy Arthur to wake a bit quicker, having realized the coach had halted.

Arthur groaned and made the unfortunate mistake of trying to roll off the American and crashed ungracefully down to the floor of the stagecoach's belly.

"Fuck!" He swore, and braced on his hands and knees.

A hearty laughed bubbled up from Alfred's throat and he rolled on to his side, smiling down at Arthur.

"How's it like down there?" He teased and received slugged punch to his belly. Due to the angle and Arthur's morning-induced lack of decent coordination it hardly hurt and made the cowboy giggle further at the Brit's string of bad luck.

"Alfred?" He suddenly sounded deeply concerned and it instantly sobered Alfred's mirth.

"Huh?"

"Are you alright?"

The cowboy felt as if his heart had become lodged in his throat and it beat wildly. He looked away from Arthur's brimming emerald eyes and noted his pants were still unzipped. Strangely, where he should have felt shame and fear, he was left with only a bit of guilt to cling to from the events of the prior sleeping hours.

He felt genuinely close enough to Arthur to understand the man's desires, even past the cloak of insanity. They were only human, after all. What had happened earlier was just the painful reminder of their current situation; a terrible tension or cornered sensation knotted tightly in them both.

"I'm fine." He said at last, sat up, and fixed his denims while Arthur watched him from the floor.

It was then that coach door opened and the blazing morning light filled the cabin, momentarily blinding them both.

"Hey, we're here!" The driver chimed and stepped aside to allow Alfred and Arthur to step out of the coach, Alfred's gear slung over his good shoulder as the disembarked.

Arthur returned to glaring daggers at the coyly smirking driver while Alfred examined their surroundings.

They were well into the heart of Salina, with the bustling train station to their left and the coach shielding them from the busy way that bordered a variety of shops and buildings.

"The doc told me you guys were looking for Feli, right?" Feliks inquired and started scanning the crowd. The train had been pulled up to the station and a variety of people were boarding and leaving all around them.

"Yep!" Alfred confirmed and nudged his boot to Arthur's to tear the Brit's glare from the cocky driver.

"Indeed." The shorter begrudgingly confirmed.

"Right! So th-"

"Hey Feliks~!" A high voice sing-songed into the air, even over the dull but load drone of the station crowd.

They all turned to see a bright-eyed young man running up to them. He skid to a halt just before them and smiled wide enough that his eyes squinted nearly closed.

Arthur noted a single strange curl seemed to isolate itself from the rest of the man's burn chestnut hair, much reminding him of the cowboy's stubbornly obvious cowlick as well.

"So mister and mister fugitives, this is Feli!" Feliks beamed proudly and Feliciano nodded, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Alfred grinned and put out his hand for the conductor to shake. The smaller's golden caramel eyes widened as he shook Alfred's hand.

"Wow, you've got-a some big hands mister!" He observed quite obviously.

"Name's Alfred F. Jones and this fella here," he motioned to the bored looking Arthur. "Is my friend Arthur Kirkland."

"Feliciano Vargas, at-a your service!" The young Italian bowed.

Feliks chimed in then.

"Elise sends her regards, Feli and was wonderin' in you could help these two out."

"Well sure! I don't-a see why not! Anything for Elise!" He diverted his attention back to the cowboy and Brit.

"Where are you both a-looking to go, hmm?"

"Anywhere. The good doctor told us you could take us somewhere safe, or to someone maybe."

"Oh yeah, sure! I know-a just the man for you fellas!" He turned and started to jog back to the train as the steam whistle blew long and loud. Over his shoulder he motioned for them to follow with a wave of his hand.

"C'mon! The train is about-a to leave soon!"

Arthur scoffed and started after with Alfred on his heels, while Feliks leaned back against the wheel of the coach. He rested one hand on one of his sturdy, bay carriage horse and petted its flank while waving back to Feliciano.

"Bye Feli!" He called with a smirk watching the three vanish into the throng of the crowd.

**Ok, no proof. **

**Hurray for the return of creepy Artie and meeting of adorable Feli! Now, got to go to work. Like, NOW! **


	23. Piano Man

**American Trains**

**Chapter 23: Piano Man**

**A/N: So i should really stop promising you guys stuff, since I'm really not so good at following through with it. So instead of 25 chapters like I planned, it's going to be 26 because dammit, I feel like you all deserve the extra chapter for being such an awesome audience! :3**

**That and if I'd mashed it all into one chapter like I originally planned it would have been very disjointed for a single chapter and pretty rushed, so there!**

**This chapter is pretty filler-y, so sorry.**

**But guess what? I finally made my promised fanart! Veeee~**

**you can see it here or if the link doesn't work(btw, just copy/paste and remove the spaces) just google 'End-of-the-rain deviantart' and I should be the first person on the search. :) It's in my gallery, titled 'Surprising Affections'**

**http:/end-of-the-rain. deviantart. com/ #/ d49yiyn**

**Reviews:**

**Kay: Poor Artie is so sad. :( I almost feel bad about making him like this... almost. ;) Lol I changed it to Western awhile ago, I think, but yeah, there really ought to be more cowboys stories! Regarding Mattie, I'm iffy at this point. Maybe a mention, I'm not so sure. Sorries! :x**

**18dustyrose: Lol, this is terrible but reading your review I totally heard the Super Smash Bros. announcer after you beat a story mode going "congraaaadulations!" in my head. xD**

**Skadiyoko: *dies of laughter* I can say no more! :P**

**KitKatt: I'm just a tease author is all, nothing personal! Lol. xD**

**aerrow4eva: I think if Artie and Swissy ever met again, it wouldn't be neutral for long. :P**

**Inkaugneato: I'm glad you felt the emotion, it was really meant to be. I felt a few heartstrings being tugged when I wrote it out, honestly. ;) Ahh, but you'll have to wait and see. So thank you for the compliment and reading and you are oh so welcome for the chapter. ;)**

**Renuki: Artie likes his prey kinda feisty, y'know. ;) Hehehehe**

**Thanks again to my wonderful audience, and enjoy!**

Following after Feliciano's darting form among the crowd wasn't the easiest task. He ducked and weaved between the crowds like a fish through water while Alfred's much bulkier form and bad leg certainly didn't grant him any advantages.

The young Italian finally halted after wedging through a mob of people clustered around the starting line of Pullman sleeping cars. Alfred wormed his way through the people with Arthur following easily in his wake and they both came to a stop with annoyed looks upon their visages.

Feliciano seemed not to notice and grinned broadly at them both, before letting his golden eyes shift to the tall Pullman beside him.

The Brit followed the conductor's line of sight and furrowed his brow.

"A sleeper? I wouldn't have guessed we'd be traveling so far."

"Oh, it's only about a five hour trip, but some people like to nap on the way. Besides, Pullman cars are so comfy! We just added them on too! They're fresh and clean!" The Italian chimed with a bob of his head, his burnt chestnut hair fluttering.

"And just where, pray tell, are we traveling to?" Arthur asked with a sharp edge of skepticism.

"Why, Kansas City of-a course!"

The cowboy suddenly loosed a groan of exasperation and Feli's features dimmed in confusion, while Arthur smirked. He almost felt bad for the American, almost.

"What's a-wrong, Mr. Jones, sir?"

"Kansas City ain't my favorite place, is all." Alfred grumbled and readjusted the strap of his carbine over his good shoulder.

The conductor shrugged and returned to smiling as the train beside them sounded the long departing whistle again.

"Time to-a go!" He said merrily and set his hand on the step rail of the Pullman car, stepping up onto the small elevation ladder.

"But we ain't got tickets!" Alfred reminded, but the conductor shook it off with a flick of his wrist.

"Don't-a worry!" He called and ushered the blonds to him.

The cowboy glanced to the Englishman, who could only offer an apathetic shrug. They might as well do as the overly cheery Italian said now.

The blue-eyed American sighed, and set his foot on the bottom step just as the Italian gasped and halted him with a flurry of his hands flailing about.

"Wha-" Alfred's stunned confusion was cut off by Feli's blathering.

"You can't bring that!" Feli pointed at the carbine slung over Alfred's back, who certainly didn't look happy about that notion.

"I ain't steppin' one foot in Kansas City without my Spencer." He rumbled back, eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

The Italian made a soft noise in his throat. Was it worth it to try and convince the rather large looking cowboy to leave his gun? Feliciano reasoned it likely wasn't, at least not if he wanted to stay unblemished.

Arthur chuckled bemusedly watching Feliciano quickly back down from Alfred and allow him on to the train baring his carbine openly upon his back. If only the brunet knew just how docile and mostly reasonable his cowboy was, he probably could have convinced Alfred to leave the weapon behind. Oh well, sometimes the cowboy's occupational reputation could be of some use.

The emerald-eyed blond followed after Alfred, as Feliciano led them through the Pullman and into the next one.

Quite a few of the passengers stared in shock, confusion or discomfort as the two bloodied and armed blonds proceeded through the wide aisle.

Alfred and Feliciano seemed immune to the pointed glares, but Arthur found himself unconsciously picking up his gait and nearly brushing against the cowboy's back as they walked the car's length. Something about the strangers' stares made his insides worm ungraciously in his gut.

He was more than grateful as they exited that car and cautiously navigated the makeshift metal plank bridge over the car's hitch to the next sleeper, away from the prying eyes.

The next car was empty, the sleeper bunks folded in for sitting arrangements.

"You fellas can stay-a here." The brunet informed them and plopped himself down on one of the benches with an airy bounce on the well-cushioned material.

Alfred smiled and set his carbine and saddle packs down on one of the far benches before taking a seat opposite the aisle from Feli.

The cheery Italian had started on some sort of explanation-enveloped speech about all the wonderful pasta the train's dining car chefs prepared that they'd be allotted when dinner came around. Arthur paid it no mind however and took his seat beside the American.

Alfred appeared to be attempting to listen, but the mix of Italian names, confusing recipes and fast pace of Feliciano's words left him baffled, though he politely hid it with a smile and the occasional nod of his head.

The Brit lost interest within the first few sentences and noting just how absorbed the conductor was with his beloved pasta speech, Arthur took the chance to drape his hand over Alfred's, which rested on the seat beside him.

While Feliciano was nice enough, if only far too chipper for the Brit, he'd much rather have been alone with just Alfred to himself.

Alfred glanced at him sidelong and flashed a quick, sympathetic smile to Arthur before returning his blue gaze to Feli.

Finally, when the Italian finished, having nearly lost track of his original intent of the speech, he announced,

"Dinner is-a at five! I'll make sure the chefs bring-a you something good, but the pasta's always good, so…" He trailed off and finally took the chance to note if either had even been listening.

Arthur retracted his hand from Alfred's just before the Italian could notice and gave the man a very bored expression.

As the young train man's golden eyes flicked over the two, he realized just how haggard and rough they both looked. How he hadn't noticed before, he wasn't really sure, but sometimes that happened with Feli. He could be oblivious at times.

"What-a happened to you both?" He exclaimed, eyes growing wide.

Arthur scoffed.

"It's a dreadfully long tale, good sir." The Brit said dismissively. He held no joy in the prospect of having to explain their situation to the zealous Italian.

"Well, if Elise sent you to me, I'd have-a to agree." He said, shuffling his feet some.

"Ah, that reminds me, just whom are you taking us to?" Arthur inquired, happy to draw the subject off his and Alfred's past week or so of mishap after mishap.

"Oh, to Elise's husband, Roderich!" Feliciano gave a thoughtful smile. "He's good man, maybe a little eccentric and kind of-a strict, but he's a good guy, promise! They took care of me for a little bit when I was younger."

That's right, Elise did mention she was married. Arthur recalled, and felt himself relax some. If Elise was as reasonable and kindly in her love as she was her doctoring and charity, then he didn't doubt the Italian's promise regarding her husband.

The train whistled again, and Felicano sighed dejectedly.

"Means I have to actually go to-a work." He murmured and got back to his feet, brushing and smoothing down his Pacific uniform. He tossed them back a friendly wave as he went to exit the car.

"I'll see you fellas a-later!" he chimed before exiting the car to cross the metal plank and pull it up on the other side.

Alone again, Arthur eased further and leaned his shoulder blades back against the material, arms draped over the backing and crossing a leg over his knee in comfort. He flicked his lazy gaze to the cowboy beside him.

Alfred appeared to be watching him from his peripheral, blue orbs half lidded in thought.

"Brute?" The Brit called, head tilting curiously.

The cowboy shook his head and smiled; essentially shrugging off the questioning look his emerald-eyed companion was casting him. Before Arthur could probe further, the train lurched forward and they both cast their gazes to the window, blue and green alighting on the station their train was crawling away from.

"It appears as if we've won, doesn't it, brute?" The shorter murmured softly.

Alfred looked to him.

"Huh?"

The Brit shook his head with a soft chuckle, and leaned his head back to gaze up at the roof of the Pullman.

"I mean this in all honesty: you are hopeless, truly."

Alfred cocked a dark blond eyebrow.

"Whatcha meanin', Artie?"

"How's the Russian to catch us now? We're on our escape train, off to some far away city without a trail for him to follow. We've won, Alfred. He's lost this round yet again."

Alfred smiled in comprehension and realized just how right Arthur was. They'd done it. They'd gotten away. He looked back to the window and the fading train station and town of Salina. It was vanishing, just like his old life. Vaguely, Alfred wondered just how fate had thrown them these trials and yet they'd still come out nearly whole, save for Alfred's shoulder and the various bruises they'd acquired. Perhaps it was the psychological aspect of their gauntlet that had truly made their journey so much more deep and troubling.

He would have pondered it further had Arthur not settled on his thigh and tugged him from his thoughts. He gifted the Brit his attention and met the emerald orbs.

Arthur had an inquisitive look settled deep in his eyes. Raising his hand, Arthur skimmed his fingers from Alfred's cheek, down to his jaw, tilting the cowboy's head to allow the Brit to kiss him deeply.

The Brit pulled away shortly after, enjoying the lingering taste of the cowboy teasing the edges of his lips.

"Thank you." He whispered.

"Fer what?" Alfred inquired just as softly.

"For everything; for finding me caught in the wire that night, for protecting me from those barbarians you were with, for refusing to let me go alone, for accepting my sins, for trusting me, for keeping me from the lawman, for forgiving me. Everything." He murmured.

Alfred flashed him a wide smile.

"S'nothin'." He replied nonchalantly and pulled Arthur against him in a crushing embrace.

The Brit yipped at the sudden, rib-cracking movement but allowed the blue-eyed American to hold him.

"I'm just glad I met ya, Artie. I like havin' a friend." He breathed out against the shorter's ear.

Eventually, and much to the emerald-eyed man's great disappointment, Alfred released him and rose to rummage through his saddle bags across the aisle.

Arthur slipped from the American's arms and leaned back against the seat again, setting to merely look upon the cowboy.

Somehow, their whispered words had allowed the man's thoughts to stalk into his mind, pouncing at the opportunity.

What now? They'd gotten away, but what was there left? He had his American, his freedom, but something still didn't feel right. It felt as though he was winning this terrible game of death he'd been playing for most of his life at last, but still he didn't quite feel right to wrap his hands around victory and end the awful match.

Alfred turned back to him, holding up a stack of worn and tattered playing cards.

"It's a long while 'til dinner, so ya wanna play?" He asked hopefully.

Never much one for card games, Arthur was about to decline, but noting the tone in Alfred's voice he found himself unable to resist and resigned with a sigh and a nod

The American grinned wider and sat himself in front of the sleeper bench with his legs crossed. Arthur moved as well and lay on his stomach over the bench like a lazy cat, scooping up his cards after the cowboy had shuffled the well-used deck and dealt.

Arthur had no idea how long they played, but he could say he measured the time as best he could in the few times he ever got the upper hand on the cowboy. They became so acquainted with sound of the train and the whistle that even the near silent sound of the well groomed door opening startled them both.

The Brit had shifted to lie on his back, and bolted upright when he heard the door, spilling his cards over his stomach and the floor.

"Hey fellas!" Feliciano beamed joyfully as he shut the car door behind him with his free hand; a rather large silver tray occupied the other and was lifted expertly at shoulder height.

"Evenin' Feli." Alfred responded and swept up the cards on the aisle floor. He dusted them off Arthur's stomach as well, shuffling them all into the deck neatly again while Feli pulled out one of the wall folded tables of the Pullman's sides and set the tray down.

He pulled aside his navy blue Pacific coat and revealed a bottle of wine jammed rather forcibly into his inside coat pocket. He struggled to pull it out, nearly ripping the stitching, but managed and set it down beside the silver tray.

Alfred stared in awe at the meal as the Italian pulled the cloth veiling the tray aside to reveal two steaming plates of the promised pasta and a twin set of clear glasses; two empty, two filled with water.

He had to swallow the excess saliva threatening to drip from his lips at the prospect of the delicious-smelling food. The American couldn't remember the last time they'd eaten anything besides old stale bread and cured meat, or eaten at all for that matter.

Arthur looked plenty eager himself, his stomach fiercely rumbling his insides. He also keenly noted there were only two plates.

"You won't be joining us?" He asked to the brunet.

"No, I eat last on the train, having to-a make sure everyone else gets-a their food too. Sad, the pasta looks even better than usual today."

The golden-eyed man did sound rather dejected, but more so about eating last rather than not accompanying them for the fugitives' meal.

"Anyway~," He chimed, "I'll a-leave you two to your dinner. _Buon Appetito_!"

Alfred thanked him as he left and shut the door before darting to the bench and urgently ushering Arthur over. The Brit wasted no time and slid into the opposite bench.

While Alfred confusedly tried to figure which of the forks in the large collection of silverware he was supposed to useset out on the tray, Arthur popped the old cork on the wine bottle and poured both his and the American's glass.

As the cowboy completely discarded his concern over the proper fork and just picked one and went to tuck into the meal, Arthur set the bottle down and grasped his hand, forcing Alfred to drop the troublesome utensil back to the tray.

His azure-gaze met Arthur's with flushed cheeks as the Brit brought the American's large hand up and kissed the back of it with a soft smile coloring his thin lips, if only just to catch Alfred's attention.

He released the flustered blue-eyed blond's hand and reached for their glasses, handing one to Alfred before clinking the side against his companion's.

"Cheers, to our great escape." He announced before taking a sip of the wine.

Alfred grinned and took a swallow of the sweet wine.

After that, they ate and drank in a comfortable silence, and for once Alfred didn't mind the lack of noise to distract his mind. These thoughts he welcomed; his thoughts of Arthur.

*~.:AT:.~*

The train arrived in Kansas City well into the evening with the rising moon just beginning to crest above the fading scarlet sunset.

Alfred and Arthur, who had been napping after their heavy meal and wine, were jolted awake by the train's jerky stop.

The Brit looked up from his place lying curled in the American's arms. The windows were set too high to see out of however, and he resigned to laying his head back down on Alfred's unfurled arm.

Alfred yawned hugely, his chest expanding enough to press Arthur's back and disturb the shorter again.

"We here?"

"I suppose so." They both spoke sleepily, and only with a great deal of reluctance did Arthur squirm from his love's arms and sit up.

The blue-eyed cowboy continued to lazily lie on his side and look up at the Englishman until the door of the Pullman began to open and Arthur roughly shoved Alfred out from the pull down bed.

Alfred yipped in surprise as he crashed to the floor as Feliciano walked in with a,

"Good Evening! Mr. Jones, you slept on the floor?"

"Nah, Arth-"

The nearly mentioned man pointedly corrected him with a lethal death glare and the American stumbled over the forming lie.

"Yeah, I, uh, I don't like sleepin' in a bed."

The conductor cocked his head, but then shrugged.

"To each his own, but I have-a some great news!" The Italian beamed.

Arthur groaned and ran his fingers through his tussled golden hair. It was far too early, or rather, late, for this much cheeriness.

"Get on with it then."

"We've arrived in Kansas City!"

"Oh joy." Arthur retorted with mock thrill, though the Italian seemed to interpret it legitimately.

"Yeah! I'll go take you to Roderich, though I think he's working right now."

Alfred got to his feet and fixed his skewed glasses.

"What's he do workin' this late, huh?"

"He entertains at one of the saloons here in Kansas City, _The State-line Star Saloon_."

Alfred shrugged.

"I don't 'member it." He said around a yawn and rubbed sleep from his eyes.

"Nice place, lots of pretty girls~" The conductor teased with a wink.

Arthur resisted the urge to scoff at the Italian's comment, but instead passed a knowing look to his companion still on the floor. He slid off the Pullman bed and helped the cowboy back to his feet.

Alfred snatched up the saddle packs and holstered the carbine over his shoulder and departed the train after Feli.

The bustle of the town hit their senses hard after the relative quiet of the train and Arthur scowled.

"I preferred the bloody train." He practically grumbled into the American's back as he stood closer.

Alfred glanced back at him sympathetically and nudged his heel back to bump the emerald-eyed man's shoe, and catch his attention long enough to flash a reassuring smile.

The young, bouncy Italian wasted no time in leading them through the walking mass of the city's streets.

As before, Alfred weaved and bumped around the crowd with Arthur tailing him in the wake, both barely keeping up with swift-footed conductor.

It didn't take long for them to approach the building with the polished sign, proclaiming its name: _The State-line Star_.

Feli waited for his blond companions to catch up to him before pushing the door open and leading them inside.

The grand room of the building was alive with a bustling crowd, drinking, laughing and playing cards while glasses clinked and conversation ensued. Floating over it all was the melodic sound of a large grand piano set at the corner of the room and raised a tier above on a plinth stage.

"That's Roderich!" The Italian pointed at the man at the keys of said piano.

The man had dark brunet hair that flourished neatly and a deep violet suit on that looked well used, but well loved and kept neatly.

As if on cue, the musician looked up with matching violet eyes and offered a small smile to Feli and nod of his head.

He finished his song and rose from the bench to approach the three.

"Good evening, gentlemen." He offered, but held an aristocratic air about himself, almost to a 'high-than-thou' degree.

"Hey there!" The Italian responded, while Arthur inclined his head in greeting and Alfred smiled brightly.

"Elise sent these boys to me, and now I'm-a trading them to you."

Roderich cocked a well-groomed brow, as he looked both blonds over. He scoffed.

"Elise taking in strays, yet again." He said with a dismissing flourish of his wrist.

The Brit loosed a growl from his throat. Alfred didn't look much too pleased at being compared to a dog either.

"But, who am I to leave a couple of scrawny mutts on the street? I suppose I can take them off your hands Felicano." The musician continued and Felicano beamed brightly.

"See didn't I-a tell you?" The golden orbs glanced back to the pair of haggard blonds.

"Yes, because every good man would call a fellow a mutt upon meeting him." Arthur grumbled under his breath, not enough for Roderich to hear, of course.

The violet-clad man turned to the side and motioned for Arthur and Alfred to follow.

"Come along, mutts, you have a bit of explaining to do for your appearances and involvement with my wife."

While neither enjoyed following the command after being referred to in such a manner, they also weren't about to forfeit their chance for safety with the man to wait out their predicament.

Feliciano watched them go, before turning away to flounce after a pretty looking dame in a long red dress that offered him a coy smile, knowing full well that his now ex-charges were in good hands.

**History!**

**The sleeping cars on trains were often referred to as Pullman cars in that age due to the wide use and fame of the Pullman train car company. The company hit it big and their fame was legendary from 1867 to 1880. They were _the_ train cars of train cars.**

**Salina to Kansas city is actually an approximate 5 hour train ride based on the average 35-45 mile and hour speed of passenger trains in the 1870.**

**No, The State-line Star isn't/wasn't real, I just made it up off the top of my head. It is based however on the location. Kansas City can be considered two separate cities since it sits on the border of Kansas and Missouri.**

**Anyway, there's your Roddy, peoples! :P**

**Next chapter will be very nice, I promises, much better than this filler crap. :3**

**Also, I have a question for you guys and gals:**

**I'll expand on this later, but if Al and Artie are both fugitives of the law (and murders/accomplice to murder), are they still the 'good guys?'**

**I want to know what you all define as a 'good guy' vs a 'bad guy'**

**Pretty please leave in a review or Pm to me. :)**


	24. The Last Dance

**Chapter 24: The Last Dance**

Roderich led Arthur and Alfred past the grand room of the _State-line_ and up the stairwell to the building's lodgings. He conducted them to one of the far rooms and closed the door behind his charges.

The room was fairly large, with an ornate chest of drawers an armoire set against opposite walls. A long study table on wrought-iron legs sat against the wall with a few heavy iron chairs placed neatly around it.

The musician motioned to them and had Alfred pull three of them over, taking a seat across from the blonds who perched beside each other.

Crossing his arms before his chest and leaning back, the violet-eyed man waited expectantly.

They sat in tension rich silence for a few moments before Roderich breathed out a sharp, exasperated sigh.

"Well, explain yourselves."

"Whatcha' want to know?"

"It would be best if you start from the very beginning."

Alfred frowned, his brows furrowing and he glanced sidelong to Arthur, who wore his typical scowl. How could they recount their tale to a complete stranger? Obviously they'd have to leave out the more intimate parts of their sojourn, but even still it wasn't a pleasant thing to recall.

Just before Alfred could muster up the ability to retell the story, Arthur chimed in.

"This man here, Alfred, rescued me one night in the desert after I'd been fleeing from a lawman, who'd caught me stealing the money from a saloon box…"

The cowboy didn't say anything but felt his lips twitch in a frown. Arthur had lied to him, but it also made sense as to just why the Brit had seemingly had so much cash on him.

Roderich crossed a leg over his knee and sat back comfortably as the Brit told their tale, expertly avoiding the notions of their feelings towards one another.

The musician's brows furrowed and expression (changed often throughout the recounting.

Arthur swallowed hard after a short pause in the tale, but then continued. "Then, I'd found him again in the alley, drunk and molested by some barman. I went into the saloon, and killed the man." He let the confession roll of his tongue easily and noted the slight uncomfortable shift of the man beside him.

"That's why…" Alfred breathed out in nearly a whisper and shook his head slowly, but said nothing else, and avoided Arthur's gaze. His earlier encounter with Arthur was starting to make a bit more sense. It explained Arthur's panic in the little cow town only a few days prior.

"We left town the next day, chased out by a lawman who saw us quarreling. Eventually we made it to Abilene. During the night, I overheard a cowboy named Cole, plotting to kill us. I-"

"You killed him too, didn't you?" Roderich interrupted, his expression dark and thoughtful, but his shoulders back and relaxed.

Arthur nodded slowly.

"I did, and Alfred and I left that night. We crossed a long wheat field and ran into a hostile farmer, who proceeded to try and gun us down." He smirked distastefully, while Alfred rubbed the bandaging on his bad shoulder.

He was rather grateful that Arthur left out their time at the Abilene river. It would have been awkward to explain to the man sitting across from them.

"That's why we came to your wife, so that she could help Alfred, who'd been badly wounded by the gunman."

The musician nodded, finding it not so hard to imagine Elise caring for the two fugitives.

"I had a run in with a man named Gilbert, I'm sure you know him."

Roderich scoffed.

"Yes, Gilbert, the Faro-dealer. I'm very familiar with him. _Painfully_so."

The Brit loosed a soft chuckle, lacking any mirth then continued.

"He freed me from the jailhouse after his brother arrested me. They offered us shelter, until a band of cowboys and my hunter, Ivan, found us there.

We had to flee back to Elise, who managed to keep Ivan at bay with Alfred while we organized our escape and managed to get to Mr. Vargas. We're only here now because of her, though."

The violet-eyed man leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands together and knitting his brows. He loosed a long sigh and ran a hand through his dark locks.

"Well, normally I'd say to chain up a pair of wild dogs, however," He looked up at the blonds, taking in their broken forms and considering for a moment. "Even a rabid animal ought to be shown a little compassion. You have my word, that you are safe so long as you are my charges, but only because my wife saw fit to pity you first.

"Either way, this Ivan fellow you spoke of. Do you think he's pursued you here?"

"No. I don't believe so, however he did manage to find me across the Atlantic."

"I'll take that into consideration, but for now I must return to my work. The saloon pays me to entertain, not chat the night away." He said dismissively and rose from his seat. Dusting down his purple suit and adjusting his cuffs, the man made his way to the door.

"I expect you both out of my lodging by the time I return. You can take up any others unoccupied for now, and I'll be sure to inform the room master of it later. Don't do anything stupid."

Exiting, he left the two alone to their own mixed emotions.

Arthur looked to Alfred, who refused to meet his gaze and the Brit rose.

"Come." He beckoned, wanting away from the room. It felt as if the air was polluted with his confessed lie and untold truths and he wanted to free himself of it.

The cowboy obeyed, rising from his seat and silently following after his companion.

They entered the first unoccupied room, and Alfred finally found his voice after shutting the door behind him, staring at the Brit's suited back.

"Ya lied to me."

"I know."

"How come?"

"To protect you."

"From what?"

"From me." He responded sadly and glanced over his shoulder to the blue-eyed American leaning against the door, staring down at the hard, wooden floor.

"I can handle ya." Alfred responded, swallowing hard.

"No. Not a single soul upon this wretched Earth can. I just don't want to lose you to myself."

"Said I could handle it." Alfred returned, still staring at the floor.

Arthur felt a snarl ripple from his throat and his lips turned up in a sneer. A dark laugh spilled off his lips.

"Oh, is that so? You really think you can?" He turned, eyes narrowed to slits. "Because if I recall, you weren't very keen on stopping me in the stagecoach."

"Artie-"

"No, Alfred, you can't handle what I am. I-"

"Would ya just shut up and listen to me!" Alfred roared, finally looking up and meeting Arthur's intense emerald gaze. The feral orbs blinked in stunned confusion for a moment and Arthur backed down some.

"I _can_handle ya, Artie, whether ya believe that or not, I dun' really care. How many times have I forgiven ya?" He unhitched himself from the door.

"How many times have I sat and held ya, huh?"

Arthur growled like a cornered animal and took a step back as the taller approached him.

"How many times have I followed ya when I shouldn't have?"

The Brit grit his teeth, canines bared savagely, but couldn't choke out a reply.

"What else do I gotta do to prove I can handle ya, Artie? What else do ya want me to do?" He asked as he backed Arthur into the corner of the room.

"I don't know." Arthur admitted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying desperately to block out the taunting, malicious voice in his head.

"I don't even know how we're still in the same place together. How the bloody Hell does a golden boy like you end up with a fucked up bastard like me anyway?" He inquired with a sad smile, feeling his eyes begin to sting and moisten.

"I just don't know…" The emerald-eyed blond choked out. How'd did it come to this? He thought he'd be over this, the horrid confusion the cowboy stirred up in him.

All this was just too much from all the past days colliding and hitting him all in one whirling storm. He'd thought that maybe, just maybe, letting Alfred in would cure his turmoil, but it had only made it worse, only made it beneath the surface, unwilling to manifest until now.

When he'd let Alfred into him, he'd bared his soul and left it vulnerable from all fronts, and suddenly regret flooded him.

Alfred knew him, inside and out, and it suddenly felt revolting with that information in the hands of anyone but himself.

Panic started to wrap its cold claws around him and he felt the familiar constriction in his chest. Arthur's breathing came short, and felt his knees go weak.

However, a pair of strong, familiar arms was around him before he could collapse. He bit his lip, realizing Alfred was trying to comfort him yet again.

"Go away." Arthur mumbled into the American's chest. It wasn't fair, the way Alfred was always allowed to see him like this, miserable and broken.

"Nah, I ain't leavin' ya, not now, not ever." The cowboy whispered. "I'll prove it to ya."

"Prove what, you git, other than that you are a complete idiot for still being here?" The Englishman returned bitterly, but pressed a little closer to the warm body.

"I'll prove I can handle ya. I'll do anything, Artie."

"Stop." Arthur commanded and relaxed when Alfred obeyed and let them lapse into silence. He didn't release the Brit however and closed his eyes, settling his chin on Arthur's head as the tormented man buried further against his good shoulder.

Slowly, the American let his hands skim down Arthur's back and curl about his waist. He shifted his shoulder, forcing the bleary-eyed Brit to look up at him.

Those burning green eyes looked into his own warm azures with a sort of tumultuous plea. Begging him to leave him to his misery alone, and yet underneath praying the American wouldn't let go.

Arthur felt a sharp pang in his heart as Alfred began moving slowly, unconsciously swaying him gently to the low melody of the piano's music downstairs. It floated up from the floorboards and enveloped them in their silence

The Brit quieted his breathing and let his eyes slip close in the circle of the sturdy American's arms. He tried to calm himself down, just how childish had he been acting, lashing out at Alfred like that?

_You don't deserve him_.

He shuddered out a soft whimper at the cruel voice, which didn't go unnoticed by the cowboy holding him.

Alfred hushed him quietly and bowed his head to kiss Arthur's forehead, tickling his ample brows.

The Brit only looked up when the cowboy's hands moved to slip beneath the shoulder of his dark suit jacket and brush it down.

Unsure of why, Arthur shrugged it off anyway, letting it spill to the floor.

He looked up into Alfred's blue gaze curiously as the American's slightly trembling hands undid the buttons on his dress shirt, sliding that off his shoulders as well. A nervous apprehension settled in the shorter's belly.

"Alfred?" He called in a trembling voice even as the cowboy's hands settled back on his waist, toying with edges of Arthur's pants flightily.

"I wanna prove it."

"Prove what?"

"That I ain't gonna leave ya. That I can handle anything ya think ya can throw at me…to prove that I…"

He sighed and flipped open Arthur's fly, never breaking eye contact with the Brit.

"That you what, brute?"

The cowboy slipped his unsure fingers into the waist of Arthur's loosened trousers.

"I dun' know. That I love ya?" He tried with a gentle smile and kissed the emerald-eyed blond softly.

Arthur's heart fluttered wildly in his chest and his body hummed with a sort of joyful energy. He couldn't even begin to explain just how those simple drawled words whispered into the music filled room made him feel. It trumped even the dark voice lurking in his mind.

"Do ya…?" The taller trailed off, his fingers toying at the fabric again.

Arthur smirked devilishly and leaned up to kiss the American passionately, not bothering with words. Lacing his fingers into the American wheat-gold hair, he felt Alfred muster up his courage and push down the Brit's trousers.

The nearly naked man pushed back against Alfred, stepping out of his discarded clothing and managing out of his shoes as they backed up into the long bed set near the wall.

As the back of Alfred's knees skirted the white sheets, he managed a small move that reversed them, and Arthur found himself pressed with his back to mattress. The cowboy even managed to kick his boots off before settling himself on top of Arthur.

He gasped faintly, not quite expecting the bolder move out of the normally shy American.

Even if the move had been bold, Arthur could still tell just how flustered Alfred was. His cheeks were a burning red and his mouth was twisted in an unsure frown.

It was endearing in a way, how much it must have taken to work up this amount of boldness and surety to actually go this far.

His attention switched to the calloused hand at the hem of his undergarments. Suddenly the reality fell upon him. This was really happening. This wasn't one of his needy dreams or stray thoughts. The tall cowboy above him, his own body exposed, those startling blues warmly watching him. It was real.

Arthur drew in a steadying breath as Alfred drew down his undergarments, and cast them aside.

The cowboy leaned back some, breath quickening; realizing he couldn't back out of this now. Not that he really wanted to, but still, the prospect of lacking escape made his stomach tighten some.

His blue gaze fell to Arthur's exposed form.

The window set high on the wall caught the moonlight well, and reflected it down upon them, alighting the Brit's pale skin with a silvery lining. It shimmered off the plethora of scars and burn marks, drawing neat patterns over Arthur's supple, lithe form.

Alfred's long fingers trailed to one marring Arthur's thigh, slitting from hip to knee in a jagged line.

"Tried to climb an iron fence while fleeing the Bobbies. I didn't quite make it over so well." Arthur chimed.

Alfred nodded dumbly, too transfixed on the lovely, almost ethereal body beneath him.

He became all too aware of his constrictingly clothed body, as the want to feel that pale form overtook him. The American slipped his good arm up to undo the button on his dress shirt.

The Englishman leaned up, nimbly snapping the buttons open with his dexterous hands for him and tugging the bloodied shirt from his lover's torso. He didn't pause but a moment before undoing the snaps on Alfred's rough denims.

Squirming out of the heavy material, the blue-eyed blond kicked the offending material off the bed to rest with their mounding pile of clothes.

Arthur's slim. pale fingers curled about the waistband of Alfred's undergarments and met the cowboy's gaze. He silently inquired permission, knowing the American was probably losing his nerve at this point, seeing as how modest his lover was.

To his surprise, Alfred seemed almost eager to discard the shielding cloth.

And even more to his shock was that Alfred dipped to kiss Arthur's neck, earning a pleased hum from the Englishman. It was all the encouragement the American needed to know he was on the right track and continued kissing down the emerald-eyed man's slender throat.

Arthur exposed his jugular fully for the American to access and looped his arms around the man's neck to draw him closer, arching to press them fully together.

Alfred shuddered at the sinful contact and couldn't help but bite down on Arthur's collar as a burning heat swept his entire body.

The response came as a low moan that excited the cowboy further, and he took the time to lick the little bite wound he'd left and nip at the fringes of it, ensuring a blossoming bruise would form from it.

He gave a shaky grin when Arthur called his name and smirked up at him with half-lidded eyes, canines bared in a wicked smile.

The cowboy dipped back down to kiss Arthur's lips deeply, pressing his tongue to Arthur's in an oxygen starved kiss that coiled the heat further in their stomachs.

Alfred only pulled away when he was almost certain his lungs were going collapse if he didn't draw in a breath, but even then Arthur's hands clawed to bring him back down and Arthur's pointed teeth sunk into his good shoulder with vigor.

Maybe it was supposed to hurt, but Alfred found it only condensed the heat, intensifying it, and he groaned in pleasure.

The blue-eyed cowboy didn't have a moment to even regain a composed thought before Arthur pulled him down further with nails digging into his back and simultaneously bucked up, grinding against Alfred without reserve.

Alfred shifted his weight some, off his bad arm and pressed back, unable to control the primal urge and loosed a low growl. He set his hands to gripping the pale man's lithe thighs as he pressed harder against Arthur, drawing out a delectable moan from his lover and the cycle continued viciously as the pressed and slid over each other.

The heat and sweat crawled over their skins; pale to bronze as their hands and tongues lapped and teased each others' skins and teeth sank into salty skin.

"Done this before, have we, brute?" Arthur managed to pant out a full sentence rather than grunts and moans.

Alfred twitched with arousal, but managed comprehensible words as well.

"Never with a fella."

Arthur cocked a thick brow, and tossed Alfred a questioning look.

"A few dames, too drunk to 'member much." He admitted, and Arthur tried not to show the jealousy wiggling into the raging heat in his belly. Some whoresome brothel girl had been allotted the pleasure of having the cowboy intimately? It irked him quite a bit, but not enough to distract him from the fact that Alfred had shifted and brought the Brit's legs around his waist.

A hazy, lust-bound looked coated his blue gaze, and Arthur found himself completely forgetting his envy in his American paramour's eyes and touch.

Alfred breathed hot on the pale man's chest as he regained what composure he could and spoke.

"Artie." He simply stated the other's name, not asking, not forcing, and merely waiting with his usual patience.

The Brit smirked slyly up at him, if only to hide the slight nervousness coming over him. Why was he feeling so flighty now? Maybe because the intimacy was just a bit more than their savage grinding and rough love bites? Arthur honestly didn't know, and wasn't in the state of mind to ponder it too deeply as he watched the cowboy spit into his hand and slick his throbbing member.

Alfred leaned further over him, as close as he could to his lover and tried to question Arthur again.

Before the words could roll from his throat, the emerald-eyed man arched up and kissed Alfred again. Really, was there any need for words at such a point? The Brit wondered vaguely before Alfred started into him, their lips still locked.

He loosed a pained moan, and grit his teeth after pulling away from the American's lips and burying against his shoulder.

The blue-eyed cowboy halted, tensing as he felt Arthur claw into his back in pain. The scratching nails weren't enough to really cause him much discomfort, but Arthur's pained whines as he tried to push in further welled up a terrible, ugly guilt in his heart. He suddenly didn't want this, he was hurting Arthur, instead of pleasing him.

The Brit wouldn't release him however and he tried to push back against Alfred, hoping to prove that he was all right.

"Breathe, Artie…" The cowboy whispered soothingly as the Brit clinging to him kept his teeth clenched, only managing out heavy, forced, pained breaths.

While it hurt terribly, Arthur found he didn't want to stop. He prayed the pain would pass, and slowly he grew tolerant of it, allowing the cowboy to finally fully sheath himself within Arthur. The emerald-eyed blond couldn't help but loose a shaky, pained groan as the brutal advance halted and he tried to adjust to the stretched, full feeling.

All the while, Alfred murmured softly drawled encouragement against his ear, and traced his hands tenderly over his lover's sides in easy, smooth strokes.

The pain ebbed to a flowing tide welcoming pleasure that sluggishly overtook him. A bit more confident, Arthur pressed back against the taller, and squirmed at the odd, but pleasing feel of Alfred moving inside of him to start and slow pace.

The American could already feel the sweat beginning to pool at the surface of his skin again, even through the easy, testing pace he tried. Each thrust became progressively easier and Alfred reveled in the short, gasping howls of pleasure Arthur loosed from his hoarse throat, having replaced the pained whines.

Lost in instinct, Arthur squirmed and arched to bring Alfred even closer, deeper inside and moaned immorally when Alfred complied, thrusting hard and slamming a nerve coil that nearly sent Arthur over the edge then and there.

The cowboy internally grinned and aimed for said spot once more, and found it again and again with each deep thrust with a steady accuracy.

As the heat of their sliding bodies slicked them, Arthur couldn't help but note the strain on his sore erection between them and encircled it to pleasure himself, to which Alfred eagerly responded and coiled his fingers with the Brit's to pump him as well.

Panting hard, their thrusting and touching became more and more erratic with each passing second and Arthur slipped his eyes shut, devoting all sense to scorching heat condensing in him.

Arthur threw back his head against the mattress with a long wail of pleasure as he released between them, coating the stomachs and chests.

Alfred couldn't hold out past the musical sound of Arthur's pleasure and the tightness of the body that welcomed him and released with a pleased gasp of his emerald-eyed lover's name. The few riding thrusts fell away as he softened and shook from exertion.

He had enough decency to collapse beside Arthur, rather than on top of the smaller, after he pulled out and lay panting beside the Brit.

Arthur's normally intense green orbs were softened with a tired but pleased haze that mirrored Alfred's dazzling blue pools.

Alfred brushed Arthur's sweat plastered bangs from his forehead and kissed the sweaty expanse lovingly, skimming his hand down to thumb the English man's cheek.

Arthur inched closer, rolling on his side to snuggle up against the warm, flushed body beside him and sighed airily against the bronzed skin. He found himself drifting away to a sleepy world even as he fought to stay awake. It just wasn't worth the fight, he decided, soaking up the generous heat Alfred unconsciously offered, and allowed himself to rest easy in his cowboy's arms. Maybe it was all right that Alfred could see so deeply into him, after all.

The blue-eyed American smiled, and kissed the top of his head before reaching over for the sheets and dabbing away the excess fluids across their torsos and sullying Arthur's thighs. He tossed the sheet to the floor and pulled up quilted comforter around them and settled himself into sleep off his exhaustion with the stated Brit curled up in his arms

Arthur may not have believed him earlier, but the cowboy prayed he would understand now. No matter what, he wouldn't let anything else bad happen to the tormented man coiled against him. Whether it be from an outside enemy or from within the shorter blond's inner tumultuous self, he'd find a way to handle anything Arthur could get himself into.


	25. Loneliness

**American Trains**

**Chapter 25: Loneliness**

**so here we are. Not much to say. Thanks all who enjoyed my smut skills. It's late, im tired, so for the last chapter (after this one) I'll properly address reviews.**

**Read, enjoy, and see you at the bottom A/N.**

**Beta'd by the wonderful Kay (Kay the Beta)!**

Arthur woke the next morning a bit sore, but entirely warm and content. He yawned lightly and nuzzled closer against the cowboy he lay beside. His sleep hazed green orbs watched the slow rise and fall of Alfred's chest as the cowboy slept easily.

The Brit tried to shift himself more comfortably, having been twisted awkwardly during their sleep, but at the sharp inner pain splitting down his lower back, tracing down all the way to his cramped thigh muscles. Instantly, he dug his nails in pain into the yielding flesh beside him, rousing the cowboy from his slumber.

Alfred groaned and let his eyes flicker open before his lips parted in an early morning yawn. His blue gaze alighted to the short nails burrowed into his skin, and moved his vice-held arm, signaling Arthur to his waking state.

The emerald-eyed man furrowed his brows, a bit embarrassed by his rather sore lower body and grumbled something akin to a morning greeting against the American's chest.

"Huh?" The sleepy-eyed cowboy questioned, raising his hand to rub sleep from his eyes and then to fix his crooked glasses.

"I said 'good morning,' you twit!" Arthur grumbled again.

"Well, morning to ya too." The cowboy returned in good nature and moved to prop on his elbow. Arthur refused to move however, unwilling to agitate his already aching body and Alfred questioned him with a cocked eyebrow.

"Sore." The shorter responded quickly, trying to keep his voice even. The cowboy broke out into a brilliant grin and chuckled softly as understanding dawned on him.

"Sorry 'bout that."

"I do believe it was well worth it."

Alfred shook his head slowly and moved as if to rise but was halted by Arthur coiling a slender arm around his waist. He pulled the blue-eyed American down and closer to him. Clearly Arthur wasn't about to get up, nor let his lover escape.

The cowboy pondered it for only a moment before he sunk back down to the mattress and allotted himself a little extra time to snuggle with the clingy Brit.

Those few extra moments turned into extra hours as Alfred rationalized it would be all right to catch some extra sleep after their hot night and its predecessor: their arduous journey.

Arthur certainly didn't complain when the American drifted back to sleep, allowing him time to avoid movement.

He toyed with the stray strands of wheat-gold hair that splayed across Alfred's cheek as he dozed and eventually found himself drifting back into darkness, seduced by the ease on his mind and the welcoming warmth surrounding them.

They spent the next four days repeating the same motion of sleeping in beside each other as the lull of their crazed lives trailed on to incorporate a few days of rest, drinking and just enjoying each other.

Each late morning after sleeping comfortably, they would rise and stretch their limbs by walking about the busy streets of Kansas City on the notion that the American hated staying cooped up too long. Alfred had been reluctant to leave his carbine in the room at first, but had eventually allowed Arthur to lead him about the city as if he already knew it. The Brit didn't seem to mind slinking through back alleys and narrow, dark streets either as they wandered aimlessly. It unnerved the cowboy some, but if Arthur was more comfortable this way, that was just fine with him.

They never strayed too far from the _State-line__, _nor did they stay out too long, due to Alfred's bad leg. Also, Roderich didn't seem to like them straying far, claiming it did hamper his ability to watch their backs if he couldn't find them.

On the fifth day, however, they had decided not to walk the city and instead stay the afternoon in their appointed room. The time had gone by rather quickly; the sun was already changing to scarlet and staining the sky.

Arthur lounged on their bed, flank to the mattress and arm draped over the side, looking like a long house cat lazily splayed out like that.

Alfred was seated at the iron and wood table, cleaning his beloved carbine with a spare rag. He was shining the barrel when a knock on the door sounded.

The table was close enough to the door that the cowboy could simply lean back, and twisted his arm to turn the knob and let the door swing open.

Roderich stepped in, looking serious as ever, and leaned against the doorframe.

"Did my mutts ever plan on leaving their kennel today?"

The dog references had grated on the fugitives' nerves for the first day or so, but somehow had become acceptable and almost endearing when used by the older, violet-eyed man.

Alfred smiled back at Roderich.

"Yeah, jus' comin' down for supper, actually. I'm hungry."

Arthur made a soft noise in his throat and cocked a thick brow.

"I'm not surprised by that, brute." Arthur commented wryly, arching to stretch and roll to his side.

The musician heaved a sigh and backed from the room.

"Just hurry up, would you?"

He finished and waltzed from the door.

Alfred moved to stand, before Arthur clicked his tongue to catch the cowboy's attention. He blinked curiously to the Brit.

"Stay where you are, git."

"How come?"

"I need to change the bandage on your shoulder." Arthur explained and rose from the bed, then knelt beside it to fish for the roll of bandages that hid in the darkness under the bed.

Alfred whined softly, but the Brit hushed him with a severe look that dared the American to protest again.

Arthur rose to full height, pulled up the heavy chair beside Alfred, and seated himself neatly on it with his knees bumping the taller's.

Alfred undid the buttons on his slate grey shirt, which had been washed and patched by Roderich himself, and slid the fabric off, casting it behind him on the chair back while his companion unrolled a long strip of the woven white material.

Working efficiently, Arthur had the old bandage from two nights prior off and cast to the other side of the table. He dabbed away the non-existent dirt particles, then wrapped the stitching afresh in a matter of minutes.

He clapped the American's chest with a playful shove as he finished.

"There, now cease with your pouting; you look like a child." He grumbled, but lightened some as Alfred's expression turned up into a brilliant smile.

"C'mon, Artie!" he chimed, rising from his seat and grabbing his carbine.

"Why are you bringing that? It's perfectly safe downstairs."

"Sure is. Ain't so out there in the night though." Alfred stated matter-of-factly.

The Brit looked up at the cowboy as said man placed his shirt back on his shoulders and buttoned it up. He cocked a brow in question.

"I figured we'd find someplace to eat, y'know, some place nice. Don't ya thoroughbreds like nice places?"

Arthur barked a bit of laughter.

"You forget, I only look like a gentleman, it doesn't mean I was raised as one. Perhaps I aspire, dear brute."

The blue-eyed cowboy shrugged.

"I just figured." He trailed off and Arthur moved past him, brushing his shoulder and letting his lips curl up in a sly smile that made Alfred tint with a faint blush.

"I do appreciate it, however. Now come along. Wouldn't want to disappoint you, now would I?"

Alfred shook his head and adjusted the carbine on his shoulder as he followed Arthur out and down the small, narrow flight of stairs into the _State-line_'s grand room.

They were greeted by the cacophonic sound of various wild, drunken conversations, glasses clinking and thudding, card games being played and all of it strangely coiled with the airy melody of Roderich at the piano, playing some long and happy tune.

Alfred waved to him over the crowd and motioned to the door. The musician nodded quickly, never missing a single keystroke as he played.

The two exited the _State-line_'s boisterous air and entered into the much chillier windswept night of the Kansas City streets.

Arthur felt a chill shoot down his spine, and found it odd. The night wasn't that cold, and he was still close to Alfred, actually brushing him; the American practically radiated warmth. No, this wasn't a cold shiver. It felt almost ominous, evil even.

Alfred didn't seem to notice the shadowy chill in the air, but Arthur's shiver did register against him and he glanced to his companion.

"Ya cold, Artie?" he inquired as they walked, still keeping a tight hold on the carbine's strap.

"I'm fine, Alfred." The emerald-eyed blond dismissed, shaking off the feeling as best he could.

They walked for quite sometime, until the sun had vanished completely and left the sky stripped of light, save for the full moon, which left glittering silver beams to outline their way. As they were walking past the Pacific hump yard that sat close to the station a soft sound caught Alfred's attention.

He looked up, only to be met with fiery flashy of gunfire in the dark and the massive, sharp bang of a shot being fired.

The shot missed, slamming into a steel fence pillar surrounding the yard, but it was enough to kick the American's instincts into gear. He grabbed Arthur's arm before the Brit knew what was happening and pulled the shorter to him, then shoving him forward to the yard.

"Run!" He ordered as the gun in the darkness clicked again, and fired; the cowboy felt the heat and air rush past his face as the bullet barely missed.

The Brit obeyed, dashing into the yard with his fellow prey right on his heels. He had no idea just where he was to run, but so long as it separated them from their attacker, he didn't care.

He squeaked indignantly when Alfred grabbed his wrist and hauled him rather forcefully to the left, pressing them both to the far side of a tall cargo car. He winced, barely catching his hands on the car as he was pressed to it.

Alfred breathed hard beside him, eyes darting in the darkness with expert calculation.

Another shot fired and sent a shower of sparks as it struck the car's metal side just beside them.

The cowboy loosed a low growl and dismounted the gun from his shoulder.

"I wasn't playin' when I said I didn't like Kansas City, Arthur." He whispered low.

Arthur scoffed, but didn't respond afterwards and pressed closer to the car, and closer to Alfred.

"Stay here, Artie. If I ain't back soon, ya run and ya get Roderich, ya hear me?" He ordered low, leaving no room for any argument as his nerves twitched with old solider instincts scratching under the surface.

The Brit swallowed hard.

"As you wish, just come back alive, brute." He muttered in return and touched the American's shoulder gently.

_Don't let him go!_

Glancing back, Alfred's blues met Arthur's emerald orbs for a brief moment and nodded.

"Heroes don't get killed, Artie. Don't ya worry 'bout me."

_Stop him!_

With that, Alfred checked, and then ducked around the car, vanishing into the dark with his carbine to his torso and a pair of gunshots sang out into the night.

Arthur winced as the shots assaulted his ears and leaned heavily against the car.

_Idiot! He's gone! My cowboy has gone to die and you didn't stop him!_

The Brit bit his lip with enough pressure to be able to taste the irony sting of blood on his tongue. No, Alfred couldn't die, right? He certainly hoped so, as he pressed his forehead to the cool metal of the cargo train car and tried to force the bile rising in his throat down.

*~.:AT:.~*

Alfred ducked behind another train car, a long Pullman, and clasped the carbine to his chest with a steadying breath.

Craning his neck, the cowboy's blue gaze narrowed to peer into the darkness, only catching shadows and vague contours lined in moonlight silver. He cocked back the hammer on his rifle and waited.

A twitch in the dark caught his eye and he swung the rifle out, squeezing the trigger as the line-of-sight alighted on the little movement. The muzzle flash was accompanied by a shower of sparks across the yard where his bullet grazed the side of a car.

He growled and ducked back behind the car, cocking the lever forward to chamber another round and cocking the hammer back again.

The heavy padding of running, booted feet alerted him and he swung the rifle around again, ready to fire. The long barrel was forcibly pushed aside and a shot discharged into the dirt, sending up a column of debris.

The stunned cowboy was met with a crack to the cheek from a solid, heavy object. The American stumbled back, and in the moonlight, he saw his attacker.

The man's pale hair, imposing stature and burning violet eyes instantly revealed his identity as he charged forward again, grabbing the rifle's hot barrel and yanking it from Alfred's weakened grip. He sent the carbine flying into the darkness.

With a ferocious roar, Ivan continued his assault and aimed to pistol-whip the American again. This time however, Alfred ducked, balled his fist and slugged a strong uppercut into Ivan's stomach.

The Russian growled in pain, but didn't falter, and grabbed what he knew to be Alfred's wounded shoulder. Exploiting the weakness, he wrenched the cowboy to the ground with a wicked grin. The blue-eyed man hit the earth face first with a strained gasp of pain.

He didn't stay there long though, rolling as Ivan's booted foot slammed into the ground where his skull had been a moment ago.

The fiery American bounced to his feet and blocked a hammering fist from the Russian's arsenal. He had dropped the Percussion when Alfred had punched him.

They exchanged quite a few blows, neither gaining much on the other, but Ivan was steadily and subtly forcing the cowboy back.

When Alfred's back brushed the cold, unforgiving metal of a cargo car he felt a twinge of panic lace his nerves and barely dodged Ivan's punch.

The bounty hunter swore as he knuckles collided with the metal siding and he brought it back with a wince.

Alfred lunged off his bent leg and sprinted to where he'd seen the carbine fly. There was no way to out muscle the Russian, especially in the dark.

His azure eyes scanned the ground wildly, searching for his beloved rifle. He didn't have the chance to even find it before another shot rang out and pain blinded the cowboy's vision temporarily.

He slid to the ground, the pain stemming from his calf. He cringed as he listened to the Russian approach him from behind, chuckling darkly.

The wounded American pushed up on his elbows but was met with a boot to his back, forcing him back down to the ground.

"I gave you your chance, Alfred. This is what you deserve for choosing Arthur's side over mine."

Alfred hissed but didn't speak, or rather couldn't with his face pressed to the foul tasting, iron-laced dirt.

"Now then, just how to dispose of you? I could shoot you, but what kind of message would that send to Kirkland?"

"Ya crazy, Ivan." Alfred managed, turning his head as best he could to glare death sidelong at Ivan.

"No, American. I'm perfectly in the right of mind." He said dismissively and gave a vicious stomp to Alfred's shot calf, sending blinding tides of pain coursing through the cowboy's body. He choked on a scream of agony.

Ivan smirked dangerously, stepped back - quite sure that his pain-stunned prey wasn't going anywhere - and looked around. Just what could he do to Alfred to leave for Arthur to despair over? He'd ruled out shooting Alfred, as that was too simple and uninspiring, and pitched the gun away.

He could break his neck? Quite a clear message of his intent to see Arthur hanged. Maybe there was something else?

The Russian's violet eyes alighted upon an open cargo car just across from them. A number of crates were displayed and one had its siding smashed open, likely from another crate slamming into it on its journey.

Something stuck out from the crate though and caught the silver glitter of the full moon.

He stepped up into the car and wrapped his massive hand around the protruding object, then wrenched it free of its confines.

Ivan laughed ominously as he stepped back down from the car and approached the weakly writhing American on the ground, object in hand. Yes, this would do nicely.

Alfred felt his breath quicken as the Russian approached him, slowly, dangerously with an ominous little chant leaving his breath that chilled him to the core. His eyes however were stuck to the object in the hunter's hand.

The curve of the metal caught the moonlight strangely, and Alfred very much feared what Ivan planned to do to him with that heavy metal piece of pipe as he came within arms reach and smiled down at him.

*~.:AT:.~*

Arthur wrung his hands nervously, still fighting off the terrible sense of dread drowning him and the cruel voice violently and scathingly scolding him.

_You let him go and now he's going to die. You killed him._

_No_, Arthur squeezed his eyes shut. How long had it been since Alfred had run off. He'd heard more gunshots, but that had been a while ago.

He should go to Roderich, and get help, but that meant he'd have to leave the yard and that meant leaving Alfred. No, he refused.

Summoning up his courage, with quite a bit of angry determination he ducked around the car and sneaked along the line of various train attachments, with his brilliant emerald orbs searching for the cowboy's familiar shape.

As he peered around another car he caught sight of a dark silhouette, broad shouldered and tall.

"Alfred?" The Brit called, and immediately regretted it. That was stupid, he'd just given away his location.

The figure turned, and Arthur lost his breath in terrible anger and horror that all flooded together.

Ivan's violet eyes were narrowed wickedly with a childish smile painting his lips. The Englishman could plainly see a long curved pipe in his hand, and a dark liquid dripping fluidly from its bend.

"Hello again, Arthur." Ivan merely stated and stepped aside for Arthur to be able to see his handiwork. He was quite proud of the mess he'd made as he watched the Brit begin to tremble.

Arthur stared in horror at the broken, bloodied form of Alfred upon the ground. He was twisted and curled awkwardly, blood pooling around him and smearing his golden hair. His spectacles lay cracked and blood smeared beside his anguish-twisted face. The Brit noted in despair, that Alfred did not move and no life seemed to hold his body up; his form was completely limp.

With moistening eyes, Arthur tried to deny that his cowboy, his lovely, handsome, sweet, perfect cowboy was pinned between Death's cold set of teeth.

"No…" He whispered in horror. This wasn't a dream, this was absolutely real, and Arthur could claim that the smell of blood in the air made him sick to his stomach for the first time in his life.

Ivan approached him.

"You, Kirkland, won't suffer his fate. Oh no, I'm going to see you destroyed like a mad dog before an audience. I want to see you squirm with that rope around your throat and the people cheering your death."

The Brit stepped back, overcome. Alfred was dead, the blood, his form, Ivan's cruel smile, he was certainly gone.

_Run, you fool!_

Arthur obeyed, turned with tears rolling down his cheeks and started running, just running.

Ivan sprinted after him, like a wolf running down its prey. His long legs carried him faster than even Arthur's adrenaline induced limbs could and he gained ground steadily on the fleeing blond.

The Brit stumbled as he nearly tripped over something, but it was enough to give the Russian an edge and his heavy hand snatched the collar of the emerald-eyed man's suit jacket, yanking him back.

Arthur yelped, twisted and wildly bit down hard on Ivan's hand, drawing blood as his canines sunk in.

The hunter released him with a pained growl, and Arthur stumbled forward, landing on his knees.

Those intense green eyes widened as he came face to face with the shimmering metal and wood of Alfred's carbine. The same thing he'd stumbled over.

Instinctively, he grabbed it and twisted. Ivan was nearly on him, quickly recovering from the minor wound.

Arthur wasn't sure just what happened next. Some adrenaline induced nerve spike forced his hand on the lever, flipped it and his thumb dropped the hammer. He barely registered the surprised look on Ivan's face, as the muzzle flashed brilliant orange and the rifle's kick punched the Brit's shoulder with a stinging thump.

He watched in stunned silence as Ivan dropped to the ground, his chest blown open from point blank range of the shot. He landed with a solid thump and then only silence filled the night besides the whistling howl of the wind.

The Brit dropped the rifle to the dirt, confused, hurt and terribly destroyed inside.

That was it. It was over, and Arthur still hadn't figured out when it had actually started.

He sat in shock for a moment before swallowing hard and shakily rising to his feet.

He avoided looking into Ivan's still wide-open eyes, staring numbly up at the moon in death.

A noise startled Arthur from his stupor. It was a voice, no multiple voices and they were drawing closer, speaking some fast, foreign language.

_Run! There's nothing left._

There was no denying it. Alfred was dead, Ivan was dead and Arthur was alive. Alive and alone. Fresh tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.

_Alfred…_

_He's dead. Leave._

_No…_

The voices were coming closer now; he could see movement in the dark.

_You'll lose your own life if they find you_.

Cowardice wormed into his nerves and Arthur turned; in too much emotional pain to really understand just what he was doing, Arthur fled the yard. He scrambled over the fence, and ran, not daring to look back to where he knew the American's body lay broken in the moonlight.

**:(**

**See you all for the final installment. It's been a great 2 months writing this. You all are the best. Much love from the Hellie. ;)**

**PS: sorry if I sound so melancholy. I kind of am. I've read too much depressing fan fic today. :P**


	26. Home

**American Trains**

**Chapter 26: Home**

**A/N:**

**Here we are. The final chapter. *starts crying* Damnit, I don't want it to end either! Gosh, you all have been so amazing. Thank you so much for being the greatest audience EVER. Seriously. Nothing but love to ya'll. ;)**

**Reviews:**

**Renuki: Ahh, am I so cruel?**

**Trumpet-Geek: Big yard, away from reality? Hehe, well it's just Artie.**

**Anonymous: Oh, I nearly cried writing it! :P**

**aerrow4eva: read on. ;)**

**Inkaugneato: All things must, my dear. :(**

**dustyrose: No no, Ivan's done. ;P**

**Kay: The usuk brainwaves are still with us, my friend. ;) I'm sorry to make you cry in front of your co-workers! *hands Kay a extra-strength Excedrin* The pain will be over soon! promise! LOl**

**Blackcat: Thanks, and yeah, sad endings are sad. T_T**

**Anyway, on to the last chapter. See y'all at the bottom!**

Everything was black; nothing felt present, not the air, the ground, the blood nor the pain. Everything was gone. Alfred wondered if he was dead perhaps, and maybe this was the afterlife? Nothingness. No, because he was still thinking, and wouldn't that mean he was alive?

It was all a little confusing. He definitely remembered being struck over and over again by the heavy pipe and he surely remembered how hard he'd tried to fight back, but after the first blow had winded him and the few others that followed brought him to submission, he'd merely done his best to curl up and protect his body as best he could in passive shielding.

Eventually he'd passed out, whether from some survival instinct kicking in or from the acute pain, he wasn't sure. His mind was too foggy to recall the incident properly.

The cowboy attempted to try and move, but found there was nothing to adjust. He knew his limbs had to be there, Ivan wouldn't have cut them from his torso, would he? No, he was aware of their presence, but they didn't respond to any of his nerve signals.

Well, that was certainly strange. The American couldn't remember ever feeling like this. It was like his mind and body were somehow disconnected. The signals fired, but nothing received them. It was terribly frustrating. He should have been up and moving; where was Ivan? Arthur? Was Roderich there?

By force of will, Alfred tried to connect those live sparks. He had to wake up. He had to move. Ivan was still out there and so was Artie, and he dared not think of what Ivan would do if he caught the Brit hiding among the train cars.

Alfred slowly slipped into consciousness, with the same feeling of bodily dislocation. His limbs hurt some, yes, but for a split instance he wasn't sure if they were actually his. He forced himself to take a deep breath and instantly regretted it.

The disassociation collapsed, leaving only searing hot pain to rattle him to the very bone. He couldn't even scream, that hurt too. It was as if a volley of knives had been plunged and twisted into his chest, choking off his pain in a pitiful whimper.

The cowboy slowly worked through the suffering, not daring to move at all until the pain ebbed. When it lapsed he let his eyes slip open, looking into the darkness surrounding him. Something approached him, no; rather it was someone, followed by more as he felt the rhythmic vibrations of footfalls on the hard ground.

His vision was blurred, but he could vaguely make out his hand beside his head and the reflective frames of his glasses under the moon's cold light. The rest of his sight was blood, his blood, and it dripped sluggishly into his eyes, stinging them.

The footsteps came closer and he couldn't help but groan in pain as even the tiniest jittering of the ground pricked his raw nerves.

Something moved above him and a hand settled on his shoulder curiously, but it sent another wave of pain streaking through the American's system. He would have shied from the painful touch if his body had cooperated, but it seemed to have been too lethargic from the pain so instead, Alfred made a soft noise in his throat.

The hand retreated suddenly and a melodic, accented voice filled his ears with hurried apologies. Alfred merely let his eyes slip shut again, trying to block out the terrible pain to no avail.

Blackness reached up and hooked its talons into his aching flesh and mercifully dragged him back down. The pain ebbed as Alfred slipped back unconscious, vaguely wondering about the voices speaking quickly in some other language above him as he fell away from the waking world yet again.

~.:AT:.~

The next time the cowboy woke he was lying on his back with strong sunlight filtering through a tall window set over the bed. It pierced his blue eyes and made him wince, which in turn, made him realize just how badly his entire body ached.

It wasn't the sharp, fresh pain from before. Now it was a droning, constant misery that lapped at the fringes of his rude nerves and drained his body.

"You're awake, I see." Said that same lost voice from before, soft, but definitely male.

"Roderich?" The American tried through his hazy mind. It certainly wasn't Arthur; the Brit's voice was too deeply ingrained into his memory to ever forget. The thought suddenly struck him. Where was Arthur?

He bolted up, and bellowed in pain as his still painful wounds protested the sudden movement, and he nearly passed out again. He forced himself to stay awake, gritting his teeth hard.

"Hey! What are you doing? Are you crazy!" The voice cried out in exclamation. Alfred only looked to the source when a hand settled on his chest trying to push him back down.

An oriental man was sitting beside him, and currently trying to force Alfred back down to the thin bed. He had a soft, round face, golden-brown eyes and slick black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail. The man wore concern on his face as his flighty hands tried to keep the American bayed.

"Where's Arthur?" Alfred finally choked out, allowing himself to fall back to the bed.

"Who?"

The cowboy squeezed his eyes shut in coming despair.

"Was there another fella with me?"

"Yes. He was dead through. He had a gun wound through the center of his chest and-"

Alfred felt his body start to shake and he bit his lip. Was Arthur dead?

"He was a tall fellow, with white hair. Why, is he this Arthur you mentioned?"

"No." Alfred sighed in overwhelming relief and swallowed hard to keep a soft sob under his breath. But then, where was Arthur? Had he fled and gotten Roderich and the musician had killed Ivan maybe?

"Well, then no. There was no one else besides the dead man, but enough of that. How are you feeling?"

"Like I got stomped on by a herd a' steer." He managed around a twitch of a smile.

"That might actually have hurt less. You're lucky to be alive mister-"

"Alfred. Don't call me 'mister' or nothin' like that." Said man interjected.

"Okay then Alfred. As I was saying you're lucky you're alive."

The cowboy cracked one eye open to look up at the curious, and slightly effeminate face. A questioning look crossed the American's expression and the man didn't seem to mind explaining.

"Oh, I'm Wang Yao, so you know."

"Howdy, Mr. Yao," Alfred mumbled, feeling tired and achy and confused beyond reason.

"My crew and I were just checking the yard before he went home for the night. We heard some gunshots and by the time we tracked it down across the yard, it was too late. We found the white-haired man first; he was dead before we even reached him.

"One of my crew pointed you out on the ground and when I came over, I thought you were dead as well until you made a noise."

Alfred nodded slowly, trying to keep his wild, racing thoughts under control.

Yao shrugged, and started to toy with the stray ends of his ponytail.

"I didn't want to just leave you there to die. My crew helped me carry you here and I treated your wounds as best I could."

Alfred took the time to look over himself. Off-colored wrappings surrounded his chest and he could feel sticking substances coating various bruises and lesions across his body. Oddly the stuff smelled like flowers, and alcohol.

"You've been in and out of the waking world for the better part of a day now."

The cowboy sighed and slipped his eyes close. An entire day. It would have taken minutes for Ivan to kill Arthur if he'd caught him. The blue-eyed man's small hope deflated and died away.

"Even so, you should rest. You mumbled the name Roderich a few times. Did you mean, _the_Roderich? As in the musician the _State-line_hires?"

Alfred nodded, unable to speak as his dreadful thoughts overwhelmed him.

"You know him?"

The cowboy nodded again and flicked his eyes open to meet Yao's golden one. Despair eating Alfred up inside. He already missed Arthur, wherever he was, dead or alive.

Yao sighed heavily and rose.

"I'll go and bring him. I have other patients to tend to, and you appear to be out of my healing abilities now. You're body will heal Alfred. Everything else, I'm not so sure of it." The medicine man mumbled, noting the defeated expression hollowing Alfred's bright blue gaze.

With that said, he left the small strangely scented room and left the troubled American alone in the silence to his misery.

*~.:AT:.~*

~ 2 Years Later ~

*~.:AT:.~*

Alfred sighed and wiped the sweat gathering on his brow with the back of his gloved hand.

Even though it was the very beginning of fall, the soft creep of the chill had begun to set into the Northwestern portion of Pennsylvania. Still, that didn't bay the perspiration of a hard day's work. Not that Alfred minded; he loved what he did.

After leaving Kansas nearly two years ago, he'd moved back to his old hometown of Oil City. The small town had welcomed home their local ex-soldier fairly warmly, but nothing had ever been the same since the fateful events that had forever changed the American's life so long ago.

He tried hard not to think about it as he lifted another massive bale up and over one of the many fine stall walls of the stables he currently was working in.

The old gunshot wound in his shoulder twitched slightly as he let his arms drop back down. The ex-cowboy rubbed at it absently. After so much agitation, it had never properly healed. An ugly scar was hidden beneath his sweat-drenched and hay-spotted shirt, but that had never bothered Alfred. Occasionally if he moved his shoulder a certain way, the wound would twitch and the muscle would go weak, leaving the blond often dropping heavy things and losing his grip sometimes with the horses he tended.

After he returned home, out of money and in a severe dip of understandable depression, he'd been lucky to find work with the local oil barons. They'd been impressed by his horsemanship and a few had hired his services to tend to their pedigree studs and broodmares whilst they managed their grand homes and businesses.

Alfred loved it. He loved the well-groomed show horses that always seemed to crave his affections and the hard, but not overly strenuous work that accompanied being a good stable boy.

He leaned his back against the stall's far wall and sighed. Behind him, a roan mare named Abigail's Rose snorted and brushed her velvety nose against his shoulder. The blue-eyed man smiled and reached back to stroke her cheek.

"I have to get goin' Abby. I'll see you later though, alright?" He said softly before unhitching from the wall, and tiding up the tack he'd cleaned before exiting the stable.

The ex-cowboy tugged off his gloves and stuffed them into his belt as he walked downhill from the baron's estate land.

His own little home was situated on the opposite side of town, where most of the lower class and those employed by the oil baron's lived, just across a set of bridges that hovered above the Allegheny.

He traversed them easily, watching the river below with eyes downcast. By the time he reached home, a slim house at the edge of a sloping hill, it was nearing sunset and the sky was just beginning to separate into different hues.

Once inside, he stripped of his shirt and set his hat aside. He splashed cold water over his face from the washbasin, rinsing the sweat and grime from his visage. Grabbing an old towel, he dried himself and plucked up a fresh shirt, one that was a soft gray tone, and slipped it over his broad, scarred shoulders.

Alfred didn't dally; exited the tree-shaded home quickly and headed back down the rolling hills of the familiar town. He smiled as he approached a fenced-off patch of lush grass, surrounded by thin sweet birches.

As he reached the fence, he swung his leg over it and bounced to the ground, only to be greeted by a familiar whinny and the sound of hooves padding up to him. The blond turned to be greeted by the deep brown eyes of his long time equestrian companion.

"Hey, Hero." The stable-hand chimed and rubbed his gelding's velvety nose. He spread his fingers over and down the animal's strong neck and leaned against him some as he hugged the horse's neck. He stopped by every day after work to greet and pet his horse and enjoyed every moment of it. It was a welcome distraction from the pain in his heart.

Over the broad horse's shoulder, Alfred could see his other charge, the silvery dappled mare that had once belonged to Arthur, Cisco. The mare stood watching the two boys and tossed her head when she caught Alfred staring.

Alfred laughed softly into Hero's mane. Sometimes he thought maybe, just maybe, the grayling became jealous if he didn't show her the same affections he did Hero. Oh course it was likely just all in his head; the mare probably couldn't care less which received more affection from him. They probably would have been just as happy if he left the food, water and never looked their way again, but the lonely ex-cowboy liked to imagine someone still cared about his emotions.

Well, there were likely some people who cared, like Elise and Feli and maybe even Roderich and Gilbert, but it had been so long since he'd last seen or heard from themthat sometimes his lonesome mind had trouble recalling such details like that.

The last time he'd seen them had been over a year ago, after he'd been able to settle himself and inquired of Elise to ship him both Hero and Cisco. Feli had helped to arrange it and had actually met Alfred at one of Pennsylvania's shipping yards.

He recalled the memory fondly. Feli had been so excited to see him and Arthur again and be able to eat some pasta with them. Oh course, Arthur wasn't there though to be annoyed by the young, bouncy Italian's chattering.

No, the Brit had never been spotted ever since that night at the Kansas City train yard.

The American's thoughts trailed off as he shut away the pain bubbling up within him at the thought.

Hero snorted, as if sensing his master's brooding misery.

"I miss 'im, Hero." He mumbled sadly into the big animal's mane. He stood hugging his sturdy horse for some unmeasured amount of time until his blue gaze alighted on the sun dipping lower in the sky. He'd better be going before it got too dark out.

Reluctantly, he released Hero's neck and patted the friendly steed's nose.

"Thanks, friend." He muttered and climbed back over the fence again. He didn't look back as he continued walking, always with his eyes cast down, but never truly seeing the leaves falling to the ground or the plush grass he tread upon.

His sight was far away, to a time that, Alfred had never realized until it was too late, was probably one of the best nearly two weeks of his life.

It was amazing really, he'd only been with the quirky, sharp-tongued Brit for two weeks, and yet two years later, he was still haunted by the experience. Alfred always thought the war had been the greatest shaking of his life, but now he realized, even the battle against his fellow countrymenwas dwarfed by the jagged marks Arthur had left on his heart.

When he finally stopped, he knew exactly where he was despite not watching his surroundings. The scent alone gave it away, not to mention the place's temptation to his limbs after all this time.

He stood just on top of a rise that dipped down to the pebbly shores of the Allegheny. Here, at the peak, a long row of wild rosebushes grew and at this time of year, were blooming beautifully.

Alfred had liked roses all his life, but never more so than after he'd met Arthur. Their natural beauty, coupled by the threat of their thorns reminded him a lot of the emerald-eyed man. Of his soft, pale skin and his quick wit and biting remarks and the burning intensity of his emerald orbs.

The tall blond swallowed hard, feeling as if his heart was lodged in his throat, choking him up and threatening to escape in a sob.

The river below babbled softly, speaking to him, but Alfred wasn't listening. He sat down, crossing his legs and setting his pained gaze upon the slowly churning water.

The water reflected the shimmer of the setting sun, and cast pale orange and pink light scattering over the landscape. Alfred loved it here, but by the same token he hated it.

For nearly the past two years he come to this same spot almost every evening. Something about the river and the roses connected him to his past love. They reminded him of his Englishman so much that it hurt and made his heart clench with terrible pangs.

Vaguely, he wondered why he tortured himself like this. Why couldn't he just let go? Arthur was gone, never coming back. Why couldn't he accept that and move on?

"I miss you…" Alfred whispered mournfully to the river below. It whispered back to him, but Alfred had long since given up trying to decipher the water's mysterious tongue.

The longer he sat beside the roses and listened to the river, the more it hurt. Eventually, his eyes moistened, and Alfred felt the salty tears begin to trickle slowly down his bronzed cheeks. His vows not to shed tears were crumbling.

"I miss you…" He whispered again, and allowed himself to cry quietly to the emptiness around him.

*~.:AT:.~*

The day had been completely normal for Oil City's most acclaimed carpenter and functional mute, Berwald.

Normal, except for the odd feeling that tickled the very surface of his skin as the sun began to dip and color the skyline in pastels.

As he was closing up his little shop, making sure the door was shut securely in his massive hand, the sound of footsteps approached him. Maybe that odd sensation had meant something after all.

He turned, casting his cerulean gaze to a shorter blond approaching him with easy, confident strides.

Naturally, Berwald didn't speak and waited for the man to address him. He noted the man was smartly dressed with a dark green suit and certain air about him. Maybe he was one of Oil City's many barons?

"Good sir, would you mind helping a fellow out but for a moment?"

"S're sir." Berwald answered in a grunt, peering down at the shorter.

"I'm looking for a man by the sire of 'Jones.' He's got hair like the color of wheat and eyes the color of the summer sky. I was told a long time ago that he once lived here."

"J'nes? Ya, I kn'w 'im. W'rks f'r th' bar'ns. K'ps a pa'r a hors's on th' So'th end."

"So he is here?" The man inquired, eyes growing wide with barely contained excitement.

Berwald merely nodded and looked to the burning sky.

"'R'nd th's t'me ya'll f'nd 'im by th' r'ver. H's th'r' ev'ry n'ght."

"Thank you, good sir, thank you very much." The man said and quickly left the front edifice of Berwald's carpentry shop, dashing off to where the North and South ends met at the Allegheny's flanks.

*~.:AT:.~*

By the time the blue-eyed man at the river had stopped crying, the sun had vanished below the tree line and only left a dying trail of orange in the deep azure of the sky.

He would have cried longer, had his tears not run dry and left him with a tingling sting at the base of his eyes and a soft sniffle to boot.

Alfred sighed, but didn't move to stand. He had no desire to go, or even do anything. All the little tufts of happiness he'd ever garnered over the past two years spent alone had fallen away in the sadness of this night. He'd never cried over Arthur up until just then. It was as if the pain he'd been pushing away had finally become too much and had crushed him beneath it.

He'd thought he was being strong, never crying, and never speaking of Arthur. Now though, he regretted it. Maybe holding his misery until the levee finally broke hadn't been his best idea, but now he didn't care. Nothing mattered. He'd always be alone now and there was nothing wallowing in his pain could do to help that. Still though, he just couldn't bring himself to move.

Alfred barely twitched when he heard footsteps behind him and something kneel behind his back and even when a pair of slender arms wrapped tenderly around his shoulders, he did not stir.

It was nothing. Alfred knew so, from excruciating experience.

It was just another ghost come to tease him. Ever since he'd moved back to Oil City his dreams and even waking life had been plagued by phantasms of the Brit he'd left behind. They were more like nightmares actually. They always ended with Alfred still alone and sad. No matter how many times he wished those slim pale hands to be real when they petted his hair, or those thin lips to be real when he kissed them, they never were and left him sighing into the empty air.

No, two years of waking to ghosts left him numb to the squeeze of those arms around him. He even ignored the warm breath against his ear, the tickling of short, messy hair against his neck.

Alfred refused to be a victim of his desperate imagination any longer. He already felt like Hell, he didn't need this.

"Alfred…" The phantom whispered into his ear, brimming with emotion.

The spectre's hands slipped to his collar and pressed softly to the skin beneath, under the buttons like a desperate plea. Begging for acknowledgement.

Those hands felt so good against his skin, familiar, gentle, loving.

No. He wouldn't fall for this. He hated this. It was all just some sick twist of his foolhardy mind.

"I miss you…so much, Artie." Alfred choked out, trying so hard to fight off the phantom.

"I've missed you as well, my dear brute."

"I'm so sorry…"

"Why?"

"I left you. I wasn't good enough. I let ya down, and now ya gone."

"I'm right here, Alfred."

The tall blond shook his head. How many times had he heard that? It seemed like every night ended as such, but when he woke, there was no warm body beside him as promised.

Arthur sighed softly, and uncoiled his arms from Alfred's shoulders. Like an old tomcat, he slunk around Alfred on his hands and knees and crawled into the ex-cowboy's lap.

He smiled as the American blushed some, but still looked up at him with dark, dead eyes. The eyes of one lost of wanting life and desperate to be found again.

The Brit cupped his cowboy's tear stained cheeks and used the slight elevation advantage granted by his position to stare down into Alfred's eyes and brush his lips to the man he perched upon. He rolled his thumbs soothingly over the sun kissed skin.

"Alfred, I've missed you." The emerald-eyed man whispered.

"Six-hundred and seventy-six days."

Arthur cocked a brow.

"I've counted every one of 'em. Every single damned day since I lost ya. Why can't ya just leave me alone?" He whispered to the phantom of his lover.

The Brit said nothing else but let his eyes slip shut and he pressed his lips passionately to Alfred's.

The blue-eyed blond resisted at first, but finally gave in. He could indulge, couldn't he? Maybe just this once, the phantom would stay awhile longer? It hurt just a little less to accept the ghost, rather than to resist it.

The familiar taste of his lover's lips made the American's heart soar. The ghost had never let him kiss them before. They always managed to fall away from him.

Arthur lapped his tongue along Alfred's firm lips and sighed happily as the American allowed him access. He deepened the kiss further, tangling his fingers into Alfred's golden locks.

He carefully pushed Alfred down to the grass and sprawled out on top of his lover's chest, never breaking their kiss.

When they finally did break for air, Alfred's eyes sparkled with some sort of life again.

"Artie…?" He shook terribly and his voice choked. He tentatively reached his hand up and touched the Brit's cheek.

Arthur leaned into his touch and smiled.

"Yes?"

"Are ya real?" Alfred inquired painfully, eyes threatening to spill over with tears again.

"Yes, Alfred. I'm very much real."

"How?" The American's hand cupped his cheek a bit firmer, as if testing for proof of the Brit's last statement.

"You're a difficult man to find Alfred. Months of searching for any trace of you, and even then, I never found anything until now. Next time you wish to tell about yourself, be more specific than a 'town in Pennsylvania' as I've discovered there are many of those. A carpenter told me I could find you here as well. I'm glad he was right." Arthur explained gently.

Something akin to a laugh rumbled in the ex-cowboy's throat and he clasped his arms around Arthur and brought him to his chest in a strong hug.

"You're really here." He muttered as he stroked the Brit's hair and just held his lover close.

"Indeed, I am." Arthur confirmed and nuzzled against Alfred, feeling his own eyes moisten and leak hot tears. 676 days was a long time to be without a single touch from his lover. He very much intended to make up for that lost time. Now though, he was more than content to simply lie in the circle of Alfred's arms as they both shook and cried.

Alfred smiled wider as he felt Arthur's lips move against his neck and the Brit's familiar voice roll out the very words that echoed in his mind.

"I love you." Arthur whispered.

The American sighed and looked up to the beautiful full moon hovering above them, and listened to soft babble of the river and slow lull of his Englishman's breath and knew everything, no matter how poor had it once been, was well so long as the Brit sprawled across his chest was his again.

Yes, Alfred could easily say he was a happy man as he let his blue eyes slip shut and drew in a long breath. There was never a time that the words had come so easily to his tongue.

"I love ya too, Artie."

**Fin.**

**Done.**

**Wow, I'm crying. I hope you all liked it. I couldn't make these two die alone. They needed a happy ending, even if it was hidden in much woe and angst. :)**

**Only a few things. We own property in Oil City, I've been there, and it's so beautiful. I described it as best I could recall with as much historical accuracy as possible.**

**I even threw in some Descartes in the beginning for those who caught it. "I doubt, therefore I think, therefore I am."**

**Yao's medicine is legit traditional medicine. The smells? Mint oil, marigold and alcohol. Marigold was used to stem infections and kept with alcohol. Mint oil was a natural topical painkiller and brought down inflammation and reduced bruising. Nifty, huh?**

**Once again, thank you to the amazing Kay for helping me perfect me favorite story to write!**

**Anyway... bye folks. It's been fun, I'll catch you guys at Risico (hopefully) ;)**

**And they lived happily ever after (Hero and Cisco too).**

**The End. :)**

**….OR IS IT? Nope, there is a planned sequel! It will be called 'Fooling You', so watch out for it! Hope to see y'all there. :D**


	27. Notice

**Hello readers! Didn't think you'd see anything updated on this, now did you? Well, guess what-**

**In case some of you haven't noticed, the sequel to this story is up and running. Yup. You can find it in my story list titled: Fooling You.**

**The prologue has been up, but since today marks the 1 year anniversary of the publication of American Trains, the first chapter went up today. :)**

**I just wanted to make sure the folks who read AT actually knew about the sequel!**

**Much love guys, and hope to see you guys over at Fooling You.**

**Oh, and hey guys... this is my tumblr: hellieace. tumblr. com. Y'know...**


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